


Rex Racer on the Final Turn

by GrayJay



Series: Rex Racer on the Final Turn [1]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alaska, Brothers, Coffee-a-Go-Go, Epistolary, Family, Fix-It of Sorts, Flight of the Navigator - Freeform, Night Moose, Racer X - Freeform, Speed Racer - Freeform, Summers Brothers, Very gentle retcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 17:28:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 209
Words: 46,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2356574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrayJay/pseuds/GrayJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Dear Alex,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Hi. I’m not sure if you remember me, but my name is Scott. If you’re the Alex Summers I think you are, I’m your older brother.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Summers brothers, secrets, and <em>Speed Racer</em> - or - a slow burn from the beginning.</p><p>(Epistolary; updates daily or so, as supplies last.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Alex Summers I Think You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Playing a little faster and looser than usual with chronology in an attempt to reconcile some contradictory numbers and details (and bypass a whole lot of silver-age silliness). In theory, this will eventually lead up to (and through) _X-Men_ #54.
> 
> For those inclined to nitpick: Dating from real-world landmarks will be dubious at best: presumably in a universe with Tony Stark both personal communications technology and slang develop on a somewhat accelerated curve.
> 
> Updates daily or so, as supplies last. Easter eggs come to those who wait.
> 
> Thanks to E for being the most patient of all possible sounding boards.
> 
> xo,  
> GJ

Dear Alex,

Hi. I’m not sure if you remember me, but my name is Scott. If you’re the Alex Summers I think you are, I’m your older brother.

The last time I saw you, you were eight, and we lived in Alaska. Now you’re twenty and you live in Hawaii and you’ve had a whole life I don’t know anything about. I hope it’s been great.

I used to imagine what I’d say if I ever saw you again, and now that I’m actually writing this, it all sounds ridiculous. I thought you were dead until about a week ago. I used to write you imaginary letters in my head, and this feels like that; only I’m actually going to send this one, and there’s a real person named Alex Summers who I think is really my brother who’s going to read it, and I have no idea what to say.

If I heard from you out of nowhere after this long, I’d probably be suspicious, so here are some things that you and I would know and no one else probably would:

Your name is Alexander Summers. You don’t have a middle name, but you used to make up crazy ones to tell people. I don’t remember all of them, but my favorite was Rocketship, even if I used to tell you it wasn’t a real name. It should have been. Alex Rocketship Summers.

You used to run everywhere. You ran into a lot of walls and doors. When you were six, you ran into the corner of a doorframe and split your lip open, and you sat on my lap while you got stitches. It’s the only time I ever remember you sitting still, and that scared me even more than the blood, but you started crying again if anyone else tried to hold you.

I think there used to be a picture of the two of us, when we were super little, of me trying to hold you, and you sort of squirming out of my lap. I kept thinking about that when you were getting those stitches. I don’t know what happened to it, or any of the other photos, or anything else from home.

You wouldn’t remember this, but when you were born, Dad told me it was my job to look out for you. I tried to do that. I vaguely remember trying to teach you to walk and getting really frustrated when you didn’t get the hang of it as fast as I expected you to, but I have no idea whether that really happened or I just made it up because it seemed like the kind of thing I would have done. I guess you would have been too young to remember either way.

We shared a room. You were scared of thunderstorms, and when they happened late at night, you’d come crawl into my bed, and I’d make my blanket into a tent and we’d make believe that we were adventurers exploring a new planet. We played astronauts a lot. I think we based a lot of those games off the covers to Dad’s old pulp novels; every once in a while, I run across one somewhere, and it’s always a really odd moment of deja vu.

We had matching teddy bears with our initials on the feet. I don’t know who got them for us, but I don’t really remember not having them, so it must have been when we were pretty young. You named yours Captain Monorail, which I think might also have been a middle name you used for a while. I named mine Bear, which you thought was stupid and boring. You were probably right. I’m still pretty boring, by the way. Sorry.

What else? Our house had this screen door that was always loose, and Mom said it was because we kept slamming it, but we used to insist it was because of a moose trying to lick the oil off the hinges at night. I have no idea where we got that from, but Dad thought it was hilarious, and he used to make up stories about the moose sneaking around and sabotaging things. I don’t remember ever seeing a moose near our house, although I know they wandered into town sometimes.

I haven’t thought about most of this stuff in years. I tried not to, for a long time.

I hit my head pretty badly in the crash, and when I woke up, it was a year later, and they said I was the only survivor. I thought they were lying. I remembered you waking me up on the ground, and yelling at me to stay awake. Did that really happen? That whole time is kind of a jumble. There are a lot of blanks, and some things I remember that I know couldn’t actually have happened. 

I was convinced you were alive for a long time. The first thing I really remember after I woke up is trying to run away to find you, over and over again.

I wish I had kept looking. I’m sorry.

Anyway, if you get this, and it is you, and you want to write back, you can reach me ℅ Xavier Institute, 1407 Greymalkin Ln., Salem Center, NY; or via e-mail at ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu.

Sincerely,  
Scott Summers


	2. All Your Secrets

Dear Scott,

Holy shit. YOU’RE ALIVE. I can’t believe you’re alive. This is amazing. I have no idea what to say. Oh my god. You’re actually for real alive!!!

They told me I was the only survivor, too. Why would they do that? It’s so fucked up. 

I remember waking you up after we fell, and making you stay awake. That was definitely real. You had hit your head, and there was blood all over your face, and I thought you had a concussion, which in my freaked-out eight-year-old head somehow meant that if you fell asleep you’d die. I was freaking out and crying and you kept telling me you were fine and that we would be okay if we stuck together. I think I fell asleep at some point. I remember getting woken up by something really bright and loud, maybe a helicopter or something, and you were gone, and then they took me to a hospital and no one would tell me where you were.

I can’t believe those assholes told you I was dead. I had a broken arm and some burns that didn’t even scar. They only even made me stay overnight because they didn’t know where else to put me. Man, fuck those guys so much.

Are you okay? I know that’s a stupid thing to ask after all this time, but still. What happened to you after you woke up?

I got sent to a group home and then got adopted after like two weeks by this family from Hawaii. They’re okay. They changed my last name when they adopted me, but I changed it back to Summers the second I turned eighteen, so we’re obviously not that tight. My sister’s pretty cool, though.

It feels weird to tell you that. Like I replaced you. I didn’t, I swear. The whole reason we got along was that she was the only one who didn’t think it was cool to pretend I was really theirs.

I remember the Rocketship thing. That was totally the best name. I should have added it when I changed my last name back. Maybe I still will. You could, too. You don’t have a middle name, either, and I know you’ll never come up with anything as awesome as Rocketship. I am 100% into this. We should totally do it.

I actually still have Bear. Like, he’s in my lap right now. Can you believe that? He’s all fucked up and singed, and obviously he’s like a million in teddy bear years (and he’s kind of gross and soggy right now because I cried on him for like three hours after I got your letter. Sorry, Bear.), but it’s the same old Bear. I guess I was holding on to him when they found me, and I wouldn’t let go, so they just let me keep him even though he was all messed up and dirty. 

I can send him back if you want. I know for sure that it’s Bear and not Captain Monorail because he’s got your initials sewn into the foot. Also he’s a stickler about rules, and Captain Monorail was always kind of a loose cannon. (Do you have Captain Monorail? I’m guessing you would have said if you did, but still, how rad would that be?)

Oh, my god! NIGHT MOOSE! YES! Do you remember the time Dad knocked over our Easter baskets and made it a whole a scavenger hunt with fake moose tracks everywhere, like Night Moose had mugged the Easter Bunny or something? That was so awesome. Night Moose fucking ruled.

It’s so weird and cool talking about this stuff. It’s like there was this whole half of my life that no one really knew was real except for me. Can you imagine the weird new kid with like a thousand awful rumors about why he’s there trying to explain Night Moose to his very skeptical third-grade class? Because I definitely did that, and it definitely did not go well. Pro tip: Hawaiian childhoods are criminally moose-deficient.

I totally remember making blanket caves during thunderstorms. You never gave me shit about being scared, either. You used to pretend the thunder was aliens attacking or earthquakes or something so we’d both have to hide and I could save face even when it was just the two of us. You were a very cool big brother, Scott. Are, I guess, but I still picture you as ten, so in my head you’re younger than me now, like in _Flight of the Navigator_. Did you ever see that? I can’t remember if I watched it for the first time before or after, so I don’t know if you would have seen it with me or not. Haley and I used to watch it a bunch, and it always made me think of you. It’s about a kid who falls off a ravine and gets abducted by aliens and then comes back after eight years, but he’s the same age. I used to pretend that was what happened to you, and you were off somewhere exploring outer space with your head crammed full of star charts. Then I’d get mad that you’d gone to space without me, which sucked but was better than being sad about you being dead.

(You weren’t in space, though, right? I know if you were you’d totally have brought me along. I’m sorry I pretended you wouldn’t. That was a dick move.)

I don’t remember Dad telling you to look out for me (obviously), but you always did. I remember you holding me while I got stitches, though. I wouldn’t let anybody else, because you said it was going to hurt, and everyone else lied and said it wouldn’t, so I figured you’d tell me if I was about to die or something. You would have been like eight. How many eight-year-olds would do that? You were seriously the best brother ever.

Fuck. Sorry. I’m crying again. I’ve kind of being doing that on and off ever since I got your letter. This is so insane. You’re real and you’re alive and you remember Night Moose. You’re going to think I’m such a fuckup. I was an angry jerk of a kid. I used to smash mailboxes and stuff, and one time I broke a social worker’s nose. I’m still kind of an angry jerk, but I don’t smash things or get in fights anymore, so score one for the Hawaii Juvenile Intervention System, I guess. You’re probably totally disappointed in me. Sorry. (Not about the social worker, though. He was an asshole. Sorry.)

I HAVE THAT PHOTO. You’re doing this face like you’re trying to be super serious, and I’m grinning like a loon and obviously right on the verge of making a break for it. It’s one of half a dozen pictures I have. I have no idea where they came from; I don’t have anything else from home, except for those and Bear. I made copies of them all, and I’m sending you half of those and half the originals. It’s so fucked up that you didn’t have any for that long. I’m also sending a couple more recent photos of me. Can you send me some of you? It’s weird knowing that you’re out there and I don’t even know what you look like.

I don’t remember you trying to teach me to walk, but it totally sounds like something you would have done. You used to try to teach me whatever you were doing in school, and you’d get all frustrated when I wasn’t interested because I was like five and didn’t give a shit about fractions. You were such a nerd. Are you still a nerd? I bet you are. I bet you’re like a math teacher or a grad student or something. (I totally don’t have a leg to stand on here, but whatever. I owe you twelve years of asshole-little-brother stuff, and I will call you a nerd if I want to. That’s what you get for exploring space without me. Or being in a coma, or whatever. Nerd.)

Here’s some other stuff I remember about you:

You were super obsessed with airplanes. You and Dad had this game where you’d try to identify ones going over by the sound, and you were crazy good at it. Dad let you fly sometimes in his lap, and you used to talk about how you were going to get your license as soon as you turned fourteen. Did you ever do that? Or did the crash make it too weird? I hope you still did it. (Confession: I haven’t gone on an airplane since I came to Hawaii for the first time. It was like a month after the crash and I screamed the whole way and haven’t been on a plane since. I’d probably do it if you were flying, though. Maybe. No promises.)

When we played astronauts, you always wanted to explore, and I always wanted to blow up aliens. You’d make up these complicated scenarios where aliens would ambush us but then to beat them we’d have to find some crazy series of clues or secret hidden thing or something, so it ended up being like ninety percent exploring disguised as fights. I am totally on to your tricks now, and if we play astronauts again, I demand NON-STOP SPACE BATTLES.

You used to get these super bad headaches, and it scared the hell out of me, because you were normally so calm and contained.

When you were really mad or upset, you used to hide under your bed and whisper stuff to Bear. I thought that was stupid, but after the crash, I was really glad he was the one I ended up with, because it was kind of like having all your secrets with me even if I didn’t know what they were. I used to think maybe that was why I had him, like you’d sent him to look after me or something. Bear magic.

Other stuff about me:

I surf, because I am a total douchebro. (Not really, though. The douchebro part, I mean. I do really surf, and I’m fucking awesome at it. I have a lot of trophies that say so, which I keep in a box under my bed, because, again, I am not actually a total douchebro. Also, when you have surfing trophies everyone thinks you’re an idiot, even though it’s a ton of work and I know more about tide patterns than my oceanography TA. Also, I’m kind of defensive about it. Not that you guessed that.)

I’m in college. You know that, obviously, because you wrote to me here, but I bet you didn’t know I was a second-semester junior (or maybe you did. It probably wasn’t that hard to figure out). ANYWAY, I’m studying geophysics. (See what I mean about not having a leg to stand on about the nerd thing? I do occasionally get to party in volcanoes, though, so I’m still the coolest nerd ever.)

Don’t you fucking dare apologize for anything. Like I’m gonna go “Jeez Scott, why didn’t you steal a car and break into records offices and macgyver a glider to get to Hawaii or something?” OH YEAH BECAUSE YOU WERE ELEVEN WITH A FUCKING HEAD INJURY AND EVERYONE YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO TRUST WAS TELLING YOU I WAS DEAD, YOU DUMBASS. That shit is 100 percent not your fault.

How are you? What are you doing? What have you been doing for the last eleven years? What’s the Xavier Institute? Are you a teacher? Or is it like a think tank or something? I googled it, but there’s nothing online except some Catholic school in Texas. Do you have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend? I’m trying not to assume things. I don’t really know anything about you anymore. That’s so weird to think about. You’re my brother and I don’t even know if you like girls or guys. (Girls here, for the record. Mostly girls who don’t like me back. Fuck everything.)

I’m so fucking glad you’re alive. I keep crying and then cracking up and then crying _and_ cracking up. My roommate just came back and found me writing this letter and laugh-crying with snotty fucked-up Bear in my lap, and I told him my big brother is back from space and we’re both changing our middle names to Rocketship, and I think he thinks I’m on acid. WHATEVER. NO REGRETS. You’re alive. You’re actually fucking really truly alive and I don’t really fucking care about anything else right now.

Love,  
Alex Rocketship Summers

P.S. HOLY SHIT YOU’RE ALIVE


	3. Kind of a Complicated Question

Dear Alex,

Thank you so much for the photos. It’s the first time I’ve seen you or Mom or Dad in twelve years. I was scared I’d forgotten what all of you looked like. I hadn’t. Not that you look like that anymore, but I think I’d still have recognized you, which I wasn’t expecting.

You look so grown up. I guess you are, but it’s still strange. I keep expecting you to be eight. 

Is that your sister (Haley?) in the picture with you and the surfboard? If so, I’m kind of relieved you guys look so different. I know that’s awful, but it feels important that you and I still look a lot alike. It’s like that was the one thing no one could take away no matter what, even if we didn’t know it until now.

There aren’t a lot of photos of me around, but I got this one from a friend. It’s from about two years ago, but I basically look the same (except for needing a haircut). I can probably get a new one if you want, though. Sorry to send your _Flight of the Navigator_ dreams up in smoke.

(I didn’t remember seeing _Flight of the Navigator_ in Alaska, so I rented it last night. It was a complete mindfuck, and now I’m 99% sure I’d never seen it before, because it definitely would have stuck with me. It sounds like it means a lot to you, but there’s a lot in there that hits way too close to home for me. Sorry.)

Do you really have Bear? That’s incredible. Tell him hi for me, and that he’d better not have told you any of my secrets. Thanks for the offer, but I think you should probably keep him. He’s been yours for longer than he was mine. Plus, it’d feel wrong asking for him back after what you said about him looking after you for me, which is pretty much the nicest thing ever. I’m so glad I sort of got to be there for you, even if I couldn’t actually be there for real.

I have no idea what happened to Captain Monorail, but I definitely don’t have him. He probably hijacked the UFO I should have caught, and now he’s off having space adventures. That seems like his style.

And NO, I wouldn’t have gone to space without you. I’m legitimately offended that you even considered that.

Night Moose Easter was great. We kept finding candy for months, too, because Dad forgot where he’d hidden some of it. I brought a picture of the footprints to school for show and tell; if it makes you feel any better, Alaska kids also failed to grasp the grandeur of Night Moose. Their loss.

I can’t describe how good it is to talk to you about this stuff. You wrote that it was like having a whole secret part of your life that no one else knew was real, which is uncannily accurate given that the orphanage people actually tried to convince me for a while that I had made you up, like an imaginary friend. I don’t know if they actually thought that was true, or if it was someone’s twisted idea of grief therapy, but it was horrible and surreal, and between that and fallout from the crash I still don’t entirely trust a lot of what I think I remember. Right now there’s literally no one in my life who’s known me for more than six years, so it’s a particularly big deal to talk about those things with you--not just because you’re you (which is still blowing my mind, that you’re you, and you’re alive), but also because if we both remember the same stuff, it means it’s definitely real. It feels like getting half my life back.

You asked if I’m okay. That’s kind of a complicated question, but the answer is essentially that I am now. Physically, I have moderate brain damage from the crash, but kids have unbelievable neuroplasticity--as far as anyone can explain, my brain essentially rewired itself around the damaged parts. It took a few years, and there are still a few crossed wires--I get headaches sometimes, and there’s some weird stuff with my eyes (thus the glasses), and my memory of the crash through about two years after is really fragmentary--but from a functional angle, I’m pretty much fine at this point.

You also asked what happened after I woke up. I can tell you the whole story if you really want, but except for the last few years, none of it is stuff I’m particularly eager to revisit or for you to know about me. Trust me when I say that I’m not going to think you’re a fuckup, and I can pretty much promise that nothing you’ve done is going to shock me. I’ve never specifically punched a social worker, but in general I have even less to stand on there than you do on the nerd thing. (The idea of me as a math teacher is pretty funny--I never even went to college. In fact, I think we might have graduated high school the same year, which is really embarrassing now that I’ve actually written it down. You are definitely the family nerd these days.)

Things are better now, though. Really good, actually. I can’t tell you much about my job, because it involves a lot of confidentiality clauses and a few things that are actually officially classified, but it’s weird and complicated and pretty great. The Institute itself is a lot of things, but one of them is a school for kids with nowhere else to go, which is how I ended up here originally. (The guy who runs it is the one who found you, actually. There’s some stuff in my records we’ve been trying to fix for ages, and he stumbled over something about you in the process.)

I don’t have a girlfriend. (Girls here, too. One in particular. Apparently falling for unattainable girls is a family trait.)

I really did become a pilot. It took a lot longer than my fourteenth birthday, but I’ve got private and commercial certification, and I’m working on getting certified as a flight instructor. I’ll absolutely take you up if you want. Or we can start with motorcycles, which might be more your speed if you’re not sure about flying--they’re about as close as you can get without actually leaving the ground.

I can’t imagine how hard it must have been having to get into a plane that soon. I completely flipped out the first time I tried to go to an airfield, and that was a few years after. I still hate riding in anything I can’t fly.

Honestly, it probably helps that I don’t really remember much about the crash. I have nightmares about it sometimes, so obviously there’s more somewhere in my head, but not much I can get to when I’m awake.

Here are some things I do remember:

When you were five, any time someone asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up, you said a tractor. Everyone figured you meant a farmer. You did not. You wanted to be an actual tractor. You were very adamant about it.

You got in a lot of fights when you were little, too, but the ones that weren’t with me were pretty much always on someone else’s behalf. One time you actually threatened a teacher because she’d made one of your friends cry. Mom and Dad were furious, and I figured I was supposed to disapprove, too, but I secretly thought it was awesome, and I wish I’d told you that then.

Other middle names I remember: Batman, Speed Racer (There was a roughly six-month period when we played Speed Racer pretty much every day. You were always Speed, and I was Racer X, and we’d make Mom be Trixie.), Forklift, Tyrannosaurus Rex, Han Solo, George Harrison, and about half the knights of the round table. You kept Gareth for a pretty long time. I don’t know what was up with that; I think you usually just picked whatever you were into that week. I know there are a bunch I’ve forgotten. George Harrison might have been my suggestion. I don’t remember why, but I remember being really worried that no one cared about him, and doing a school report on sitars but still only having a very hazy idea what they were.

Love,  
Scott

P.S. I realized I still don’t really know what sitars are, so I just looked them up online. I sort of figured they were just Indian lutes, but they’re actually incredibly mechanically intricate.


	4. Dear Racer X

Dear Racer X,

I still can’t get over you being real, and 22. You’re so tall! Is the girl in the picture the one you like? She’s cute. Does she have a long-lost little sister who’s into surfing geophysicists?

KIDDING. Unless the answer is yes, in which case I am totally serious.

Yeah, that’s Haley in the photo. I don’t look anything like any of them, which is fine with me. I used to call Joanna and Andrew Fake Mom and Fake Dad and make a point of telling everyone I wasn’t really theirs if they introduced me as their son. Again: angry jerk of a kid. We’re in sort of awkward first-name space these days.

I’m really sorry about the whole _Flight of the Navigator_ thing. I didn’t really think about how much you actually had in common with him, just the space adventure stuff and the part where he comes back and everyone’s eight years older, because that’s what I used to imagine happening with you. Which would actually have totally sucked for you now that I think about it, so, sorry again.

What the fuck kind of fucked up orphanage were you in, and where can I find it so I can burn it down? Holy shit. I can’t believe they did that. That’s so utterly twisted. For what it’s worth, I promise I’m real, and I also promise to prove it by beating the shit out of anyone who ever tells you otherwise.

I’d really like to know more about your life, if you’re okay with telling me. What did you mean about there being stuff you don’t want me to know about you? I’m not going to freak out or ditch you if it turns out you murdered people for the mob or something. (You didn’t, though, right?) You’re my brother no matter what.

I’m also super curious about your weird school that also does classified government stuff. Is it like a feeder for some kind of crazy spy program? Are you making kids into super-soldiers? Does your job actually involve planes? What kind of school has planes? I assume you’re going to say you can’t tell me any of this, but I am coming up with some awesome conspiracy theories here. Also, tell that guy thanks for finding me so I could bug you with stupid questions about his school.

It’s so cool that you really became a pilot. The more I think about it, the more I think I’d be okay with flying if it was with you. Yes yes yes yes yes yes to motorcycles. I’ve been wanting to learn to ride since forever.

I do remember the crash, but I’m not going to tell you unless you’re sure you want to know. I don’t think I would, if I were you. It sucked, and I wish I could forget it. Either way, I don’t think I should put that stuff in a letter. If we ever meet up and you still want to know, I’ll tell you.

Gareth was my favorite knight. He was like the George Harrison of the Round Table: he was a rad dude, and everyone always forgets him. I think Lancelot ended up killing him. (Gareth, not George Harrison. As far as I know--he might have killed George Harrison, too. Lancelot was a dick.)

I just googled sitars, and now I’m completely weirded out. How did someone even come up with that? They’re like guitars cubed. It’s crazy.

I remember playing a ton of Speed Racer. You were a great Racer X, because you were always so serious. WAIT, IS THAT THE BIG SECRET? DO YOU WORK FOR INSPECTOR DETECTOR? You totally work for Inspector Detector, don’t you? You can tell me.

Tractor is my backup plan if the geophysicist thing doesn’t work out, and I’ll still fight anyone who says it’s not a real job. I would be a kickass tractor.

Love,  
Speed Racer

P.S. Bear says hi. I think he misses you a lot. Maybe I could send him for a visit sometime or something.


	5. Sedated, Restrained, or Both

Dear Speed Racer,

Okay. I’ve written this letter four times, and if I don’t mail this one, I’m probably not going to.

You wanted to know about my life, after the crash.

I was in the hospital for a long time. I only remember bits and pieces of it, and none of them are very pleasant. Like I wrote before, I kept trying to run away, so I spent a lot of time sedated, restrained, or both. I remember thinking it was because I couldn’t make them understand how important it was that I find you; in retrospect, it was probably because I kept trying to break out of a pediatric ICU while disoriented and basically blind. I also remember everything tasting wrong at first, and getting really frustrated trying to do something over and over with a fork, which I assume was probably some kind of occupational therapy; and a brief period when my vision was starting to come back and it looked like everything was covered in jagged neon lines. Object lesson: brains are weird.

Again, my memory of this time is pretty fragmented, so I don’t know exactly when they sent me to the orphanage--only that I could definitely see, and I’d probably gotten the hang of forks by that point. You already know some of what happened there; all I’m going to say about the rest is that it was about the same level of awful. No one adopts eleven-year-olds with brain damage and night terrors, so I was pretty much stuck except for a couple short-term foster placements that went really badly. I don’t know if it that place still exists and I don’t want to know, and if you want to burn it down, you’re more than welcome to as far as I’m concerned, as long as you don't get caught.

I ran away for good when I was fifteen. I didn’t really have a plan other than getting away as far and fast as I could. I stole a lot and got pretty good at hustling pool, but there was no way I could pass for old enough to be in a bar and I was terrified of getting arrested, which kind of limited my options. 

I ended up involved in some really bad stuff. Again, I’m not going to tell you any details about that, except that it’s probably not anything you’d guess (and didn’t involve murdering people for the mob), and that there’s absolutely no question I would be dead or in prison if Professor Xavier hadn’t found me and gotten me out. He pulled some strings and got an emergency custody order so I could stay at the school. After I graduated, he asked me to stick around as staff, which covers the last couple years and pretty much everything good in my life, including finding you.

I didn’t know if I should write to you at first. I thought maybe you wouldn’t remember me, or that it would mess up this awesome life it seemed like you had. I still don’t know if I should have, but I’m still glad I did, even if it was ultimately selfish

Alternately: I spent the last twelve years training to become the world’s greatest masked racing vigilante and international secret agent, and I have Inspector Detector on speed dial. I prefer that version.

Love,  
Racer X

P.S. Tell Bear I miss him, too, and that if he ever wanted to meet up, it would be pretty easy for me to take the Shooting Star down to Hawaii for a weekend. No pressure, though.


	6. All the Stupid Brother Stuff

Dear Scott,

Oh, hell, dude. Wow. I have no idea what to say, except I’m really glad you’re okay. Thank that Xavier guy for me. So much. Seriously. 

And what the fuck, YES, it was a good idea to write, you dumbass. Having you back is the best thing in my life pretty much EVER, and it’s so fucked up knowing that you could have died before I even found out you were alive. God fucking damnit, Scott. Stop apologizing for stuff like this. You’re the best and I love you and YES I WANT TO SEE YOU.

Whiiiiiich kind of brings me to a thing I haven’t told you yet, which is that there’s a school really near you with a crazy good earth sciences program including a lady I would give my right arm to study under, and I maybe kind of wrote to them a while ago about transferring. It’s past the transfer application deadline, but it sounds like they might be willing to stretch it--they were making noises about a work-study thing, so I guess they really want me? Anyway, would that be weird? I don’t want to crowd you--I know you have a whole rad secret agent life up there with Inspector Detector and the girl you won’t ask out or whatever--but HOLY SHIT WE COULD LIVE LIKE AN HOUR APART. We could make blanket forts and play baseball and go camping and do all the stupid brother stuff we missed for twelve stupid fucking years. It wouldn’t be until next semester at the earliest, though, so you should still come down to Hawaii. Right now. Today. Not joking. My roommate practically lives with his girlfriend; you can have his bed, and being as how I’m a huge nerd, I can totally afford to cut classes for a couple days. I was going to say I could teach you to surf but honestly I’m probably just going to cry all over you. Maybe we can build a blanket fort and watch all the movies we missed watching together. (Not _Flight of the Navigator_. Obviously. I still feel like an asshole for that. Sorry.)

I can’t believe I’m actually going to see you again for real. I’m really scared that you’re not going to like me, or I’ll meet you in person and we’ll realize it was a huge misunderstanding and you’re actually some other Scott Summers with a brother named Alex and a weirdly similar childhood.

You’re not, though right? You’re my Scott. I’m pretty sure even a really good doppelganger wouldn’t know about Night Moose.

WHATEVER. VISIT ANYWAY. NOW.

Love,  
Alex

P.S. Bear says to visit, too.

P.P.S. If you have Inspector Detector’s number, you have to let me crank call him at least once.


	7. Something You'll Regret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whole mess of update today, which will probably happen more as messages get shorter and/or more tightly threaded.

Dear Alex,

I would love it if you were nearby, but it shouldn’t be part of your decision to transfer or not. That’s a choice that’s going to affect a lot of your future, and if the school doesn’t work out or we meet and you decide I’m a jerk, I really don’t want you to be locked into something you’ll regret.

I also worry that you’re going to be disappointed when you actually meet me. It sounds like you’ve been building up this cool fantasy big brother in your head for the last decade, and there’s no way I can compete with that. I’m a total dork. I'm boring and uptight, and I suck at fun and pretty much everything else that doesn’t involve obsessively overpreparing for every possible contingency.

If you still want me to come, I can get the weekend of the 20th off, along with a couple days around it. Would that work? I’ll even watch _Flight of the Navigator_ if you still want to, but you have to absolutely swear not to give me any shit if I kind of fall apart over it.

Love,  
Scott


	8. SUBJECT: HI

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** HI

Scottscottscottscottscott,

Hey, look! E-mail! I figured we should move to something faster than the Pony Express if you’re going to be here in two weeks, and it’s not like I have your number or anything. (KIND OF FREAKING OUT YOU’RE GOING TO BE HERE IN TWO WEEKS. I think I’ve pretty much wrapped my brain around the idea that you’re actually alive and out there somewhere, but out there and RIGHT HERE are really different.)

The weekend of the 20th is awesome. Any weekend is awesome. Every weekend is awesome. I can’t believe I’m actually going to get to see you for real.

When are you getting here? Are you flying yourself? Can I pick you up, or would that be weird? I don’t actually have a car, but I can probably borrow one. Actually, I should probably try to do that anyway so we won’t be stuck on campus.

STOP APOLOGIZING. Also it’s hilarious how you seem to think there was ever a time when you weren’t an uptight weirdo. You better remember how to build blanket forts, though, because that shit is ON.

Love,  
Alexalexalexalexalex

P.S. I solemnly swear that I will never, ever give you any shit about getting weird over _Flight of the Navigator_. We really don’t have to watch it if you don’t want to, though.

P.P.S. Application in. Trying really hard not to get my hopes up, but, man, I look REALLY fucking good on paper. MY ERDÖS NUMBER LET ME SHOW YOU IT. Fingers crossed.

P.P.P.S. For what it's worth, I was looking at Old Landon before you wrote. I'm not going to pretend you're not a factor, but I wouldn't be doing this if I wasn't pretty sure I wanted to be there anyway. I've been pretty fucking done with Hawaii for a while.


	9. SUBJECT: Re: HI

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: HI

Alex,

Good luck on the application.

Flights booked; forwarding my itinerary separately. If you want to go flying while I’m there, we’ll rent something locally.

You don’t have to meet me at the airport; I can get a cab or something.

I’ll see what I can do on the blanket fort front. It’s been a while.

My number is 212-555-6023.

Love,  
Scott


	10. Hey X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whole mess of update today, which will probably happen more as messages get shorter. (New material as of 10/1 starts at [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2356574/chapters/5200370).)
> 
> The text messages theoretically have screenshots attached, but the hosting is kind of iffy, so, transcripts as well.

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

UNKNOWN: hey x

SCOTT: Who is this?

UNKNOWN: speed racer

UNKNOWN: this is scott right

SCOTT: Yes. Hi, Alex.

UNKNOWN: is it ok if i call u

SCOTT: Yes. Just give me five minutes to wrap a thing up.


	11. Mess Up Your Mask

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

 

<SUMMERS S> Alex?

<UNKNOWN1> Hi. Scott. Wow.

<SUMMERS S> Yeah. Hi.

<UNKNOWN1> Oh, my god. You sound like a grown-up.

<SUMMERS S> So do you.

<UNKNOWN1> Yeah. I can’t believe it’s really you.

<SUMMERS S> Me, too. This is, ah. Yeah. Wow.

[silence]

<UNKNOWN1> This is weird.

<SUMMERS S> Yeah.

<UNKNOWN1> I mean, it’s good. Really good. But also really weird.

<SUMMERS S> Yeah.

<UNKNOWN1> You’re probably in the middle of work.

<SUMMERS S> It’s okay. It’s nothing that can’t wait.

I wouldn’t have recognized your voice. Um. I mean, if I didn’t know it was you.

<UNKNOWN1> Yeah, well, puberty.

<SUMMERS S> I don’t know. It still seems like I should have.

<UNKNOWN1> How?

<SUMMERS S> I don’t know. I just, um, I think I always figured I’d recognize you no matter what. Like, I’d just know.

<UNKNOWN1> Ha, yeah, me, too. I think I’d recognize you if I saw you, though. Even without the photo.

<SUMMERS S> The glasses are sort of a giveaway.

<UNKNOWN1> Do you have to wear them all the time?

<SUMMERS S> Yeah.

<UNKNOWN1> That sucks.

<SUMMERS S> I’m pretty used to it.

<UNKNOWN1> Is there actually something wrong with your eyes, or is it just so no one will guess you’re secretly Rex Racer?

<SUMMERS S> [laughter] Oh, my god.

<UNKNOWN1> I’m trying to remember why I called. There was actually something I was going to tell you.

<SUMMERS S> Was it about next weekend?

<UNKNOWN1> Probably. Oh! I’m definitely going to pick you up at the airport. Don’t get a cab. Unless that would be weird. Would that be weird?

<SUMMERS S> No, it’s--thanks. It’s, um--I’m really looking forward to seeing you.

<UNKNOWN1> Me, too. I missed you so fucking much. I’m kind of--fuck, I’m seriously kind of losing it here.

<SUMMERS S> Damnit. You’re going to make me cry, too.

<UNKNOWN1> Careful. You’ll mess up your mask.

<SUMMERS S> My--oh, right. Racer X. That’s okay. I probably have spares. Did he have spares?

<UNKNOWN1> He wouldn’t be a very good secret agent if he didn’t.

<SUMMERS S> Right.

<UNKNOWN1> I know I should let you get back to work, but I really don’t want to hang up. Like, ever. Can we just stay on the phone until you get here?

<SUMMERS S> What if Inspector Detector calls?

<UNKNOWN1> He’ll just have to find something else to inspector… detect.

<SUMMERS S> [laughter]

I should probably--

<UNKNOWN1> Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare hang up and have space adventures without me.

<SUMMERS S> I won’t.

I--Alex. Um.

It’s going to be okay. You know that, right? We’re--it’s going to be okay. It really is.

<UNKNOWN1> [indecipherable]

[crying]

<SUMMERS S> Oh, god. I’m sorry. I didn’t--

<UNKNOWN1> [muffled] Stop fucking apologizing.

<SUMMERS S> Okay. Sorry. I--damnit. Sorry.

<UNKNOWN1> [laughter]

Jesus Christ, Scott.

<SUMMERS S> I know. Sorry. _Sorry_.

<UNKNOWN1> I’m supposed to be in a lab right now.

<SUMMERS S> Oh. Do you--do you need to go?

<UNKNOWN1> No, it’ll be fine. I’m just--

I keep thinking if I hang up you won’t come back.

Like, you’ll just disappear, and I’ll never find you again.

<SUMMERS S> No. _No_. That’s--that’s not going to happen. I promise.

<UNKNOWN1> Really?

<SUMMERS S> I swear to god. No matter what.

I will always, always come back for you, Alex. I swear.

<UNKNOWN1> [crying]

Fuck. Sorry. You must think I'm such a jerk.

<SUMMERS S> No. I mean, no. Me, too. This is--

God, I still can't believe you're real.

<UNKNOWN1> I really don’t want to hang up.

<SUMMERS S> You’re going to miss class.

<UNKNOWN1> Lab.

<SUMMERS S> Lab. That. I don’t want you to get in trouble.

<UNKNOWN1> I can make it up.

Are you going to get in trouble at work?

<SUMMERS S> No.

<UNKNOWN1> I wish you were here.

<SUMMERS S> I’ll be there in ten days.

<UNKNOWN1> That’s so crazy.

What do you want to do while you’re here? We could do the whole tourist thing. Beaches and stuff.

<SUMMERS S> I don’t really--um, whatever you want.

<UNKNOWN1> I don’t even know what you like to do.

<SUMMERS S> I don't care. I just--I really just want to see you. We can do whatever you want. Whatever you normally do.

<UNKNOWN1> Okay. Tripping balls, it is.

Kidding. Kidding.

I mean, we could if you wanted.

<SUMMERS S> Ah, no. Thanks.

<UNKNOWN1> Yeah. Honestly, you seem like someone who should probably never do hallucinogens. No offense.

<SUMMERS S> No, you’re absolutely right.

I don’t really even drink.

<UNKNOWN1> Do you still play pool?

<SUMMERS S> Not really.

It’s not something you really forget how to do, though. We could do that if you want.

<UNKNOWN1> I’m just trying to think of things you like to do.

<SUMMERS S> Do you still want to go flying?

<UNKNOWN1> I don’t know.

[laughter]

Oh, my god. I just thought of the worst thing ever.

[laughter]

We could go skydiving.

<SUMMERS S> [laughter]

Oh, my god. That’s not funny. That’s really, really not--

[laughter]

<UNKNOWN1> [laughter]

I know! But it totally is, isn’t it?

<SUMMERS S> You are joking, though, right? You don’t actually want to go skydiving.

<UNKNOWN1> What? No. God, no.

<SUMMERS S> Good.

[laughter]

<UNKNOWN1> [laughter]

Oh, man.

I think we’re kind of fucked up.

<SUMMERS S> Yeah, probably.

<UNKNOWN1> Hey, Scott?

<SUMMERS S> Yeah?

<UNKNOWN1> Can I ask you a question? About something you wrote? I know I said I wouldn’t, but--

<SUMMERS S> Oh. Um. I guess, yeah.

<UNKNOWN1> Did you really--keep trying to find me? After you woke up?

<SUMMERS S> Oh. Yeah.

It was, ah--it was the only thing I was really solid on for a long time. I was supposed to--I kept thinking Mom had told me to keep you safe, and I’d dropped you.

Did I? Drop you?

<UNKNOWN1> No.

<SUMMERS S> Good. That’s, um. I’m glad I didn’t drop you.

<UNKNOWN1> I mean, you did when we hit the ground, obviously. But yeah. You held on all the way down. You kept saying it was going to be okay and I think trying to distract me so I wouldn’t look. I was freaking out and trying to get away and hitting you and stuff. I didn’t want to--I think I kept telling you we had to go back.

Do you really not remember any of that?

<SUMMERS S> All I remember is trying to hold on to you, and then you yelling at me to stay awake.

Did, um. Did Mom really tell me to keep you safe?

<UNKNOWN1> Yeah.

<SUMMERS S> Sorry. You don’t--we don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.

<UNKNOWN1> Um, no, it’s okay.

There was--one of the parachutes was fucked up. So she put you in the other one and told you to hold on to me and not let go. But there was a bunch of debris and stuff falling, so--

<SUMMERS S> Oh, god.

I didn’t--I don’t--

[indecipherable]

<UNKNOWN1> Scott? Are you okay? I didn’t--I thought you knew.

<SUMMERS S> [indecipherable]

I--

I’m fine--I just--

Oh, goddammit, _no_ , not now.

<UNKNOWN1> What happened?

<SUMMERS S> I have to go. I’m sorry.

<UNKNOWN1> Fuck. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have brought that stuff up.

<SUMMERS S> No, it’s not that--it’s a work emergency. Worst timing ever. I’m really sorry. I’ll e-mail later, okay?

<UNKNOWN1> Is it Captain Terror?

<SUMMERS S> Ah--sure.

<UNKNOWN1> Kick his ass.

<SUMMERS S> Okay. Don’t forget to make up your lab.

<UNKNOWN1> Nerd.

Love you.

<SUMMERS S> Love you, too.

  
**[end of recording]**


	12. SUBJECT: phone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Six chapters today. Click on!

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** phone

Alex,

Thank you for calling. It was great to talk to you. I still can’t get over how grown up you sound.

Sorry things got weird near the end. Like I said, I hardly remember anything about the crash, and having a bunch of new pieces all of a sudden kind of threw me off balance.

And I’m really sorry about having to run like that. My job involves being on crisis call pretty much 24-7. I’ll try to make sure that’s not an issue when I’m down next week.

I was thinking if you wanted, I can talk to a friend who could maybe get us a motorcycle to use while I’m there (I thought maybe I could rent one, but apparently you have to be 25). You mentioned wanting to learn to ride; I’d be happy to teach you.

Love,  
Scott


	13. SUBJECT: Re: phone

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: phone

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

i am so sorry I brought up that stuff. I feel like I fucking broke everything. your life has been so fucked up and like the one thing you got was not having to remember the crash and now i fucked that up and you’re not even mad. 

fuck you for that. seriously. how can you just fucking take that shit in stride? don’t do that. you should be mad at people who fuck things up for you. do you ever even get mad? you used to. you’d do this like quiet build and then suddenly get really flustered and storm off and hide under your bed with bear. you’d do the same thing when you were crying. like you were actually trying to hide from being upset.

do you still do that? i should send bear back to you. i keep picturing you curled up under the bed alone. you probably don’t still do that but at least that way you could if you wanted and you wouldn’t have to be alone.

i keep thinking about the stuff you didn’t say in that letter and how bad it must have been because the stuff you did say sounds like a fucking nightmare, and then you getting all fucked up watching flight of the navigator by yourself. why won’t you tell me what happened?

fuck

i really wish i could fix this.

love  
alex fuckup summers


	14. SUBJECT: Re: Re: phone

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: phone

Dear Alex,

You didn’t break anything. I promise.

I’m okay. I really am. A lot of my life hasn’t been great, but I’m somewhere good now, and I have friends who have my back, and I have you. And yes, it was hard to hear those things about the crash, but it’s still a million times better than not knowing.

Yes, I get mad (but not at you and not about this, because you didn’t do anything wrong and there’s nothing here to be mad at, except bad luck and maybe gravity). No, I don’t hide under the bed anymore; even if I wanted to, my bed has drawers under it. And I still think you should keep Bear. Like I wrote before, it makes me really happy to think that he’s looking out for you for me.

As far as the things I left out of that letter--I’m sorry. I can’t. If you want me to have something, please let me have that. Racer X’s mask is what lets him be there to look out for Speed and help him win races and fight crime and do the stuff he couldn’t have done as just Rex, right?

Love,  
Scott


	15. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: phone

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: phone

all speed wanted was his fucking brother back you idiot


	16. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

Maybe Racer X thought the mask was all that was holding together what was left of Rex, and he was scared that if he took it off, Speed wouldn’t recognize him.


	17. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long one. Updates for 10/3 start [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2356574/chapters/5200580).

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

maybe racer x was a fucking idiot


	18. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much update. Many chapter.

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
**TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
**SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

Maybe it was a stupid metaphor. Rex chose to become Racer X. I didn’t really get a choice.

Alex, what I wrote in that letter is more than I have told anyone else, ever. I have friends I trust with my life, and literally all they know about me before I came to Xavier’s is that I grew up in the system.

I don’t talk about that stuff because it feels like pointing a loaded gun at my head and putting someone else’s finger on the trigger. For a very long time, anything anyone knew about me was something they could use to control or hurt me. The last people I told about you tried to make me believe you were imaginary, and I still don’t trust a lot of my memories because of that. The stuff I got mixed up in after I ran away happened because someone worked out what I was running from. I don’t talk about my life because not talking about my life is _how I survive_.

The things I left out of that letter are things I still have nightmares about. Other people knowing about them scares me not just because they’re ammunition, but because it makes them real in ways I don’t know how to deal with.

I’m doing my best, Alex. I really am. Please be patient with me. You’re not the only one this is hard for.

Love,  
Scott


	19. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

i know. i’m sorry.


	20. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

Me, too.


	21. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

are you still going to come visit?


	22. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

Do you still want me to?


	23. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

YES. idiot.


	24. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

Then yes, I’m still coming.


	25. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

are you sure you’re okay?


	26. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

Reasonably sure.

Are you okay?


	27. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

i don’t know.

are you mad at me?


	28. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

No. I’m not mad at you. Why would I be mad at you?


	29. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

because i’m an asshole


	30. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

You’re not an asshole, and I'm not mad at you.


	31. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

i wish the last 12 years had never happened


	32. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: phone

Me, too.


	33. SUBJECT: that was getting unwieldy

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** that was getting unwieldy

Motorcycle stuff sounds great. Does your friend live around here?


	34. SUBJECT: Good Call

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Good Call

No, but he knows a lot of people.


	35. SUBJECT: subject

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** subject

Because he’s Inspector Detector?


	36. SUBJECT: Re: subject

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another lots-of-chapters day, because so many of the e-mails are so short. If you clicked straight to the latest chapter: the updates from 10/4 start [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2356574/chapters/5200634)

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: subject

Yes.


	37. For Everything

Dear Alex,

I’m not sure if this will get there before me or not. If not, I hope we’re having an awesome visit.

Anyway, however the visit ends up going, I wanted to write and say thank you. For inviting me back into your life. For the photos. For everything.

I’ve talked a lot about what I remember of you as a kid, but I don’t think I’ve told you how proud I am of who you’ve grown up into. You’re in college. You’re going to be a geophysicist--I hardly even know what that is. You’re amazing and unstoppable, and I am so proud to be your brother.

Love,  
Scott


	38. Slang for Something

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

SCOTT: Motorcycle is go. We can pick it up Saturday morning.

ALEX: !!!!

SCOTT: I can’t believe I’m going to be there in less than a week.

ALEX: i know. crazy

ALEX: honestly im kind of freaking out a little

SCOTT: Me, too.

ALEX: this is starting to feel really real

SCOTT: I know.

ALEX: ok gtg rocks arent going to lick themselves

SCOTT: ?

SCOTT: Is that slang for something?

ALEX: ha no. geology lab. literally licking rocks

SCOTT: Why would you do that?

ALEX: identification mostly

ALEX: not really definitive but great for narrowing down or telling visually similar samples apart

SCOTT: Weird.

ALEX: not if yr a geologist

ALEX: its like kindergarten if kindergarteners had to crunch a shitton of data

ALEX: i really do have to go tho

ALEX: sorry

SCOTT: Okay. Have fun licking rocks. I’ll see you on Friday.

ALEX: YES

ALEX: HOLY SHIT

ALEX: YES


	39. SUBJECT: that letter

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** that letter

Stop making me cry, you asshole.

P.S. I’m totally proud of you, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([The letter in question.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2356574/chapters/5200748))


	40. Very, Very Safe Planes

 

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

ALEX: r u at the airport

SCOTT: Yes.

ALEX: what kind of plane

SCOTT: 767 to LA, DC-10 to Honolulu.

ALEX: can u fly those

SCOTT: Not really.

ALEX: could u land them

SCOTT: Maybe?

ALEX: fuck

SCOTT: It’ll be fine. Jet airliners are very, very safe planes.

ALEX: i know

ALEX: still

ALEX: text me when you get to la okay

SCOTT: Okay.


	41. Explosive Decompression at Cruising Altitude

 

 

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

SCOTT: In LA.

ALEX: thanks

was your flight ok

SCOTT: It was fine.

ALEX: good

ALEX: sorry

ALEX: i know im being weird about this

SCOTT: It’s okay. It really is very safe, though.

ALEX: the next one is a dc10 right

SCOTT: Yeah.

ALEX: im looking it up on wikipedia

SCOTT: Okay.

ALEX: thats a lot of crashes

are you sure theyre safe

SCOTT: Older models had a cargo door latch flaw that caused explosive decompression at cruising altitude.

ALEX: holy fuck

SCOTT: They fixed it in 79. They’re fine now.

ALEX: ru sure

SCOTT: Yes. The FAA doesn’t mess around with stuff like that. They’re very thorough.

ALEX: ok

ALEX: i still wish it was something you knew how to fly


	42. Stack the Odds

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

<SUMMERS A> Are you okay? Did something happen?

<SUMMERS S> I’m fine. I thought maybe I should call. I, um. I didn’t want you to worry. You seemed worried.

<SUMMERS A> You’re flying in a plane that fucking explodes in midair. And you don’t know how to fly it, and you hate riding in planes you don’t know how to fly. Of course I’m fucking worried!

Sorry. I just really want you to be okay.

<SUMMERS S> I’m--I’ll be fine. DC-10s really don't do that anymore. And they only ever did if you closed the cargo hatch wrong.

I’ve, um, I’ve looked at manuals and stuff. They’re not that--I mean, they’re not really what I’m used to flying, but they’re not--I think I could land one, at least. Probably. If I needed to.

<SUMMERS A> You must think I’m such a fucking freak.

<SUMMERS S> Look, Alex, I spent something like ten hours reviewing schematics and emergency procedures for what are probably two of the safest aircraft in operation. I’m not going to think you’re a freak.

<SUMMERS A> Did you really do that?

<SUMMERS S> Yeah.

<SUMMERS A> Do you do that every time you fly?

<SUMMERS S> If I have time.

<SUMMERS A> Does it help?

<SUMMERS S> Ah, yeah. A lot, actually.

The more you know about something, um, how it works, the more prepared you are to react if something goes wrong.

<SUMMERS A> Dad knew a lot about planes.

<SUMMERS S> Yeah. Yeah, he did.

You can be the best driver in the world and still crash a car. There’s no perfect failsafe. All you can do is try to stack the odds.

Obviously the aircraft itself makes a huge difference, too.

<SUMMERS A> Do you know what kind--sorry. Dumb question. You wouldn’t remember that.

<SUMMERS S> It was a de Havilland Mosquito.

<SUMMERS A> How do you know that? I thought you didn’t remember any--

<SUMMERS S> I helped Dad restore it.

<SUMMERS A> Oh.

<SUMMERS S> Mosquitoes are--I mean, they were great planes. But they’re not in remotely the same class as DC-10s.

It’s like comparing, I don’t know, a wooden go-kart to a tour bus.

<SUMMERS A> Did you ever fly one? A Mosquito?

<SUMMERS S> Ah--yeah, once, a couple years ago. I talked a guy into taking me up at a show.

<SUMMERS A> How come?

<SUMMERS S> I don’t--I was curious, I guess.

<SUMMERS A> What was it like?

<SUMMERS S> I don’t know. It was fine. They’re neat planes.

There aren’t any left anymore. Mosquitoes. I mean, maybe thirty or forty, and maybe five of those are airworthy, but they’re all in museums or collections.

I hate that.

<SUMMERS A> How come?

<SUMMERS S> If you put a plane in a museum, it’s not even a plane anymore. It’s just a--a thing. I don’t get why anyone would do that. It’s a stupid waste.

Planes should fly.

<SUMMERS A> Aw. You’re such a weirdo.

<SUMMERS S> Are you feeling better? I have to--my flight’s starting to board.

<SUMMERS A> Yeah. Thanks.

Be careful, okay?

<SUMMERS S> I will. And hey--the next time I talk to you, it’ll be in person.

<SUMMERS A> [indecipherable]

<SUMMERS S> Ow. Don’t--

<SUMMERS A> Sorry. Just. Wow. I’m going to see you in like six hours.

I wonder if you’re still taller than me. How tall are you?

<SUMMERS S> Ha. I’m--hold on a sec. I need to get my ticket out.

Six-three.

<SUMMERS A> Six even. Damnit! How come you still get to be taller? That’s such bullshit.

Are you boarding?

<SUMMERS S> Yeah.

<SUMMERS A> Don’t you have to turn your phone off?

<SUMMERS S> It’s actu--yeah. I guess. Soon, anyway.

<SUMMERS A> Okay. I’ll. Um. I’ll see you soon. I still can’t believe you’re really going to be here.

<SUMMERS S> I know.

<SUMMERS A> I really hope I recognize you. I think I’ll recognize you. Is there anyone else on your flight in goofy-ass red sunglasses?

<SUMMERS S> I wasn’t looking.

<SUMMERS A> It’s cool. I was just kidding. I’m sure I’ll recognize you.

<SUMMERS S> I wouldn’t be able to tell if they were red, anyway.

<SUMMERS A> What?

<SUMMERS S> Other people’s sunglasses.

<SUMMERS A> [laughter]

<SUMMERS S> I--just a sec. Yeah, I know. Sorry.

They’re making me turn off my phone.

<SUMMERS A> Be careful, okay?

<SUMMERS S> It’s going to be fine.

I’ll see you in six hours.

<SUMMERS A> Love you.

<SUMMERS S> You, too. I’m hanging up now. I’ll see you there.

 

**[end of recording]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey, there's a short story set between this chapter and the next: [Against the World](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2770100).


	43. Something That Should Have Hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Scott and Alex's first meeting, click over to [Against the World](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2770100).

Dear Alex,

It feels pretty silly to write you a letter when you’re ten feet away. I don’t know if I’m actually going to give this one to you or not, but I feel like I still need to get it down on paper. Anyway, you're still asleep, so I've got some time to kill.

My friend Jean--she’s the girl you asked about in the photo, who, yes, is the one I’m stuck on--doesn’t take photos when she goes on vacation. She says she’d rather have memories. I don’t really trust memories, and I don’t really like photos, so I take a lot of notes. I try to write the important stuff down, because making it tangible makes it harder to lose. I don’t want to lose this.

Sitting here, waiting for you to wake up, feels like--

Have you ever cracked ribs? It hurts in a jagged, continuous way that you end up shifting everything around without even really noticing--the way you breathe, the way you stand and move. All of it becomes this unpleasant background static you learn to ignore so much that you don’t usually notice when it stops. Instead, you notice that something feels off, and it’s hard to figure out what until you realize you’ve just done something that should have hurt--reached for something, or taken a deep breath, or whatever--and it didn’t.

Meeting you yesterday was so strange. I didn’t know what to say or do. Everything felt surreal and weird and awkward.

Today I woke up stupidly early, because my body still thinks it’s in New York. When I got up, you’d kicked off all the blankets, and you sort of muttered something in your sleep, exactly like you used to when you were little. And I think maybe the reason everything felt so off yesterday was that for the first time in twelve years I took a deep breath and it didn’t hurt.

-Scott

_S- Found this while you were out running. Sorry if I wasn’t supposed to read it, but yeah. That. Me, too. -A_


	44. Rad as Hell Speed Racer Sheets

Dear Scott,

I think I timed this so it’ll be waiting for you when you get back home. I assume our weekend kicked all kinds of ass. You’d better have appreciated the rad as hell Speed Racer sheets I scored off ebay.

Love,  
Alex


	45. Moose Tracks

Dear Alex,

I keep starting this letter and then stopping because no matter what I write, it doesn’t really cover how great it was to see you. I still can’t believe you got Speed Racer sheets. And moose tracks. I didn’t even know that was a flavor of ice cream. Alex Rocketship Summers, you are amazing.

Thank you again so much for inviting me down and putting me up and everything. And staying up all night talking. And everything. Please thank your roommate for me, too.

Sorry we didn’t get a chance to go flying. Next time?

Any word yet from Old Landon? Whether or not that ends up working out, you should come up and visit. We could go camping or something.

Love,  
Scott

P.S. I meant to ask--do you actually use those sheets normally? Or did you just pull them out for my benefit?


	46. All the Ways That Matter

Dear Scott,

IT WAS SO AWESOME TO SEE YOU! Thank you so much for coming down, and letting me drag you all over the island, and teaching me to ride and completely kicking my ass at pool. (Seriously, how the hell do you do that? It was off the rails. And the looks on those dudes’ faces was priceless, like you were this total unassuming nerd and then you got up and did THAT like it was no big deal. I totally believe you used to hustle professionally. Can you teach me to do that? We could be outlaws. It would be awesome.)

I keep thinking about what you wrote about everything feeling weird at first, and then like you were breathing right for the first time in twelve years. I was so fucking scared that you’d get here and it’d be like hanging out with a stranger, but you’re still so YOU. You’re weird and kind of awkward and way too serious, and you still commit to everything like a million percent. I can’t believe you PRACTICED MAKING BLANKET FORTS, YOU DORK. I mean, you’re twelve years older, and even if you hadn’t told me it’s pretty obvious that you’ve been through some shit, but I don’t know. You’re still _Scott_. You’re still the best big brother ever in all the ways that matter.

And hoooooooooly shit speaking of being the best big brother ever, MOTORCYCLES. OH MY GOD. I am definitely 100% going to get one when I’m not a broke-as-fuck undergrad. What do you drive?

I wish I’d gotten to take you surfing. If you like that, you would love it. If I don’t end up getting in to Landon, maybe you can come down for longer this summer? We could camp out on the beach. And go flying. New York sounds cool, too, though. I just realized I’ve never actually been east of the Dakotas. Or lived in the continental US. WEIRD.

Stilllll waiting to hear back on the application. I’m trying really hard not to get my hopes up, but I keep thinking that if they want me enough to pull strings so I can apply late, that has to mean something. Waiting is the worst.

The Speed Racer sheets are totally a fixture. Can you believe I’m single? Maybe when I move I should get a racecar bed. I hear the ladies love those.

Love,  
Alex

P.S. I forgot to tell you thanks for watching _Flight of the Navigator_ with me. I know it wasn't fun for you--you might not hide under the bed anymore, but when you’re upset, you kind of shut down, and it’s still pretty obvious. But you were very cool about it, and I appreciate that.

P.P.S. Bear says it was good to see you, too. I still feel a little bad that you didn’t take him with you. Maybe if I end up in New York, we can work out some kind of shared custody thing.

P.P.P.S. Maybe Speed Racer kind of forgot that Rex didn’t stop being Rex just because he was wearing the mask.


	47. A Hellishly Steep Learning Curve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OOPS. Only meant to post one today, but accidentally posted 'em out of order, so, you get two. Hooray?

Dear Speed,

Thanks for that. It means a lot.

We went to Michigan once, but you might have been too young to remember it. I know that it was some place with “Hawk” in the name, because I mixed up Michigan and Ohio and got it stuck in my head that we were going to Kitty Hawk, and I was really disappointed when we ended up at a cabin by some lake.

I ride a heavily modified Harley VRSC, which I would absolutely not recommend as a first bike--racing bikes have a hellishly steep learning curve, and something like that would be total overkill for anything you’d be using it for (I hope). Start with a smaller bike--ideally under 350cc, but definitely under 600--and work your way up.

No, I will not teach you to hustle pool. It was fun to play again, though.

Love,  
Rex

P.S. The movie was fine. I know it means a lot to you, and you’d been wanting to watch it together for years. I’m glad I got to see it with you.

P.P.S. Say hi to Bear for me. I really do think he’s yours now, but it was nice to see him again.


	48. When You Get This

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

 

**[VOICEMAIL]**

<SUMMERS A> Hey, um, Scott, this is Alex. Call me back when you get this, okay?

**[end of recording]**


	49. Seriously

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

 

**[VOICEMAIL]**

<SUMMERS A> Hey. This is Alex again. Seriously. Call me.

**[end of recording]**


	50. Keep Bugging You

 

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

ALEX: scott

ALEX: scott

ALEX: scott

ALEX: scott

ALEX: call me

ALEX: seriously

ALEX: sorry i keep bugging you

ALEX: but seriously calllllllllll meeeeeeee

 


	51. Busy or Something

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

 

**[VOICEMAIL]**

<SUMMERS A> Hey, Scott, this is Alex again. Are you okay? I’m sorry I keep bugging you if you’re busy or something. I just really need to talk to you about a thing. Anyway, call me back.

**[end of recording]**


	52. SUBJECT: are you ok

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** are you ok

Hey

I’ve been leaving you voicemails and texting for like three days. Are you okay? Is your phone fucked up or something? (This isn’t one of those passive-aggressive things, you’re just usually super fast about that stuff, so I thought something might be wrong.)

Anyway, if you can, call or e-mail or something, and let me know if you got this, okay?


	53. Wanted to Tell You

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

 

<SUMMERS A> Dude! Are you okay?

<SUMMERS S> I’m fine. I just got your messages. Are you okay? What’s going on?

<SUMMERS A> Where were you?

<SUMMERS S> I had to, um, I’m out of town. I didn’t really have any reception. Sorry. Are you okay?

<SUMMERS A> Sorry. Yeah. I just wanted to tell you, I got in.

<SUMMERS S> To Old Landon?

<SUMMERS A> Yeah. I mean, I’m still waiting for the official letter and stuff, but they called on Monday. I wanted to tell you.

<SUMMERS S> Congratulations. That’s great. Are you going to do it?

<SUMMERS A> Yeah. Of course. You sound--are you in a car?

<SUMMERS S> Something like--stop that.

<SUMMERS A> What?

<SUMMERS S> Not you. Hold on.

[indecipherable]

No. Sit back down.

[indecipherable]

I don’t know. Ask the Professor. _Sit down_.

[indecipherable]

Sorry. I can’t really talk right now. I’m sorry. I can--I’ll call you back when I get home. Sorry.

  
 **[end of recording]**


	54. Not Even All That Sorry

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

 

<SUMMERS A> Hey. Everything okay?

<SUMMERS S> Yeah. Sorry about earlier. I was--driving, um, with some people.

<SUMMERS A> It’s cool.

<SUMMERS S> That’s great, though. About Old Landon. That’s so cool, that you’re going to be living here. In New York.

<SUMMERS A> Yeah. It’s--yeah. I still can’t believe I actually got in.

They offered me a crazy good scholarship, too. And a summer work-study gig, so I’ll be up, like, end of June, beginning of July.

<SUMMERS S> June. Wow. That’s--that’s actually really soon. Are you--do you need help with apartments or anything?

I mean, I don’t actually know how to find an apartment. But I’m sure I could figure it out.

<SUMMERS A> Ha. Seriously?

<SUMMERS S> Ah--yeah. Sorry.

<SUMMERS A> No, it’s cool. I’m going to be in student housing, at least for the summer, and then I can either stay or find my own place in fall. I’ll probably just stay. I think it’s an apartment thing, not dorms, which is rad.

It’s still kind of sinking in that this is real. And now I extra wish we could have gone flying while you were here.

<SUMMERS S> We can still go when you get here. I mean, it’d actually be a lot easier.

<SUMMERS A> It’s not that. It just would have been cool to go with you before--

<SUMMERS S> Oh. Yeah. Sorry, yeah. Are you going to be okay?

<SUMMERS A> I’ll, I don’t know. I can probably get a prescription or something.

<SUMMERS S> Okay.

<SUMMERS A> I mean, the alternative is not ever leaving Hawaii.

<SUMMERS S> Right. Have you told your--the Blandings yet?

<SUMMERS A> No. I should probably do that soon.

<SUMMERS S> How are they going to take it?

<SUMMERS A> I don’t know. They’ll worry. They always worry.

I wish I could just go. I mean, I guess I could.

<SUMMERS S> You shouldn’t--don’t do that.

<SUMMERS A> I know. It’s just awkward. They wanted us to be this, like, perfect, happy family, and I fucked it up, and I’m not even all that sorry.

You must think I’m such an asshole.

<SUMMERS S> No.

<SUMMERS A> Honestly, I’m hoping this’ll make it easier for them. We can send Christmas cards or whatever and not feel guilty about not talking.

<SUMMERS S> What about Haley?

<SUMMERS A> We’ll be fine. I mean, she knows I’m--we’ll be cool, I think. Did I tell you she wanted to meet you?

<SUMMERS S> Really?

<SUMMERS A> Yeah. She asked if we could get drinks or something while you were here. I told her no. I mean, we only had a couple days, and I didn’t even know if you’d--you know.

<SUMMERS S> Thanks. I mean, she sounds nice, but that would have been--

<SUMMERS A> It would have been super weird.

I feel like such a dick, though. I know this has to completely suck for her. She’s had my back through so much stupid shit, and now you’re back, and she probably thinks she’s just been, like, a placeholder.

<SUMMERS S> I’m sorry.

<SUMMERS A> It’s not your fault. Anyway, she’ll be fine. She’s, like, aggressively well-adjusted. Someone had to be.

<SUMMERS S> I’m not--she knows I don’t want to replace her, right? Any of them.

<SUMMERS A> I know, dude. They’ll deal.

Sorry. This wasn’t supposed to--can we just be happy about New York for now?

<SUMMERS S> Yeah. It’s--it’ll be great having you here. Nearby, anyway.

Are you still going to be able to surf?

<SUMMERS A> On and off. It won’t be on the doorstep or anything, but I’d have had to pull way back anyway, ‘cause, thesis.

I wish we’d gotten to go while you were here, though.

<SUMMERS S> I was going to say “next time,” but I guess next time you’ll be here. What does your summer schedule look like? With the work-study program? Will you have any time to get away?

<SUMMERS A> I don’t know. Probably weekends, at least, but it’ll depend on whether I’m doing mostly number crunching or site stuff. Either way, I think there’s a week or two between when it ends and the fall semester starts, so we could do something then.

<SUMMERS S> Okay.

<SUMMERS A> What about you? The Institute is basically a school, right? Do you get time off? Or is summer when you catch up on the international super-spying?

<SUMMERS S> It varies. We don’t really have a standard academic calendar, but some people go home. Or on vacation. I usually stick around.

<SUMMERS A> You? Fail at vacations? Shocking.

<SUMMERS S> Stop it. Anyway, the Institute is home. And it’s not like I had a family to visit before. And someone has to keep an eye on things here.

Jean wanted me to come along to some family thing this year.

<SUMMERS A> Wait, are you guys finally--

<SUMMERS S> No. She’s seeing someone, which is one of the reasons I said no.

<SUMMERS A> Yeah, but she invited you, not him. That has to mean something.

<SUMMERS S> It means he’s busy with some other family thing. In France. He asked her to go with him, but she already had this.

I think she just feels bad that I don’t have--you know. Whatever the rest of them are doing.

<SUMMERS A> You should go anyway. Maybe if her folks like you--

<SUMMERS S> No. I’m not going to be that guy. And Warren’s a friend. I want them to be happy.

It’s probably better this way, honestly.

<SUMMERS A> I’m sorry, man. Seriously.

<SUMMERS S> It’s not a big deal. But I’d still rather be at work than that.

<SUMMERS A> Yeah, I get that. Anyway, you have a family thing to do now, too. So there.

<SUMMERS S> Ha. Yeah. I’m still getting used to that. But yeah.

<SUMMERS A> What time--oh, shit, I have to go try to catch my advisor. His office hours are, like, nonexistent. But I’ll talk to you soon, okay? And I’ll see you in June.

<SUMMERS S> Yeah. Take care.

<SUMMERS A> You, too. Love you.

<SUMMERS S> You, too.

  
 **[End of recording]**


	55. Nonstop Neon and Superheroes

Dear Scott,

I'M MOVING TO NEW YORK!! FOR REAL!!!! (I mean, not for a couple months, BUT STILL!!!!!)

What’s it like? All I really know anything about is New York City, and that’s honestly mostly from movies, so all I can picture is like a square mile of nonstop neon and superheroes and/or a post-apocalyptic wasteland that’s probably actually Vancouver or Toronto or something.

Oh, man. I am going to make you take me to do ALL the dumb New York tourist shit like the statue of liberty and ice skating at Rockefeller Center (that’s a real thing, right?). What’s Spider-Man like? I assume you know him, what with the whole international secret agent mask-dude thing and all. Do you trade mask-care tips? WILL YOU INTRODUCE ME?

Also, I just realized: WINTER!!! REAL WINTER!!!!! You know, I haven’t actually seen snow in twelve fucking years? How weird is that? Do you remember the year there was that huge storm and the drifts were high enough to actually tunnel through? I assume New York doesn’t get Anchorage levels of snow, but man, that ruled so hard. Do you snowboard or ski or anything like that? I really want to try snowboarding. I think I remember cross-country skiing a couple times when we were kids. In P.E., maybe? Does that sound like a real thing? 

Also: EPIC SNOWBALL FIGHTS.

I know no one in the city drives, but is the area around Old Landon far enough out to justify, say, getting a motorcycle? It would definitely make it easier for me to get to Salem Center, and it would be a lot cheaper than a car. FISHING FOR EXCUSES HERE.

Love,  
Alex

P.S. If you won’t teach me to hustle, will you at least teach me your mad epic pool skills?


	56. A Decent Guy Who's Trying to Do the Right Thing

Dear Alex,

New York is nice, especially once you get outside of the metro area. I haven’t really done any of the tourist stuff, except for skating at Rockefeller Center. We can if you want, though. I don’t actually go into the city that much.

Spider-Man seems like a decent guy who’s trying to do the right thing. I wish the press wasn’t so hard on him.

Winter here is great, especially upstate. We get a ton of snow--not enough to tunnel through, but enough for most other stuff. Skiing is pretty fun. I think we might have done cross-country in P.E.? I don't really remember, but that sounds familiar. Downhill is better, though. Snowboarding looks fun, but I’ve never tried it.

If you want a bike, I’ve actually still got the CB350 I started on. It probably needs some work before it’ll be road-safe, but I can help you fix it up (which is something you should learn to do anyway--don’t drive anything you can’t fix). If you want, and if you’re willing to commit to taking good care of it, it’s yours once you have a license.

Otherwise, the area around Old Landon has pretty good public transit. I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to come to Salem Center. The Institute is really strict about visitors.

My mad epic pool skills are mostly a byproduct of mad epic brain damage, which isn’t a technique I particularly recommend. The rest is really just coordination and practice.

Love,  
Scott


	57. A Kind of Sketchy Superpower

Dear Scott,

Holy fuck, are you serious about the bike? THANK YOU. I will take amazing care of it. I should probably look into getting a license before I go. (Or maybe I should wait until I get to New York? I’m not sure how that stuff transfers. Which I should probably also find out, considering that I’m moving there in like a month and a half. Do you know?)

TELL ME MORE ABOUT NEW YORK. Why don’t you like the city? What’s cool? What sucks? What do you like to do when you’re not at work? Or do you just work all the time? Don’t do that. It’ll make you boring. Boringer.

I kind of hate that you don’t want me to visit you in Salem Center. I know you have your secret Racer X stuff or whatever, but can’t I at least meet your friends? Are you hiding your life, or me? I don’t know. It just feels weird. I wish I knew more about you, and I’m irrationally worried that you don’t want me to come there because you’re embarrassed of me or something.

Love,  
Alex

P.S. I’m like 90% sure you’re messing with me about the pool thing, but if not, it’s cool that you at least got a superpower out of it. A kind of sketchy superpower, but still.


	58. Less Exciting but Probably More Useful

Dear Alex,

Of course I’m not embarrassed of you. You’re great. I’m just not really ready to share you yet. I know it’s irrational, but I still worry that if people know about things I care about, I'll lose them, and you’re the most important thing in my life. I’d really like you to meet my friends eventually, but it means figuring out some complicated stuff, and it’s an idea that it’s going to take me some time to get used to. Is that okay?

Even if I wanted to, it really wouldn’t work for you to visit the Institute. The students here--there aren’t a lot of places that are really safe for them the way the Institute is, and part of what makes that work is that we’re incredibly careful about confidentiality, which makes visitors complicated at best. I’m not going to compromise that just to show you around. I live on campus, so it’s not like you could crash with me or anything anyway. Salem Center itself is basically a handful of strip malls and one okay coffee shop.

As for the rest:

Yes, I’m serious about the bike. I’m glad someone will be riding it again. There’s really no point in it just sitting in storage. I have no idea about the license part--I assume it would transfer, but I’ve also never really existed on paper anywhere outside of New York.

I don’t like the city because it’s crowded and loud. There are better and more interesting places to go that aren’t full of people and cars. Central Park is pretty, though.

I have no idea what’s cool. The people I know who spend the most time in the city mostly hang around one coffee shop in Greenwich Village, and I’m pretty sure that’s only because Bobby has a thing for one of the waitresses. Apparently it’s got a house poet, which seems like a great reason never to go there.

New York is big--not Alaska big, but bigger than most people expect. The city and the stuff that’s basically an extension of the city is really only one corner. If you go further upstate, it starts to feel more like part of New England. Things get further apart. There are mountains. It’s beautiful and quiet, and you can see stars at night.

That’s what I like to do when I can get away, which is less than I would like.

I’m not messing with you about the pool thing. It’s kind of hard to explain, but as far as I understand--which is frankly pretty limited--it’s less about how things look to me than how my brain prioritizes visual input. I see things almost entirely in terms of spatial relationships. If you put me in a room with a bunch of random objects, it’ll be a lot easier for me to figure out a ricochet pattern between them than to name them. It gets more pronounced when I’m really tired: I’ll see a bunch of surfaces and edges and intersections but not be able to identify them in sum as a chair. I’m also almost completely face blind, I can’t do those Magic Eye things at all, and the first and only time I tried to watch a 3-D movie I walked out after ten minutes and spent the rest of the day throwing up. As superpowers go, it's not really the kind of thing you'd write home about.

The pool part is fun, though. I’m also very good at maneuvering large pieces of furniture up narrow flights of stairs, which is less exciting but probably more useful.

Love,  
Scott


	59. The Moon or Narnia or Something

Dear Scott,

I can probably live without meeting your friends for now. I’d still like to eventually, though. And it makes sense about the institute. I can’t really give it shit for that, since I’m guessing it’s part of why you were able to stay there after whatever you got mixed up in when you ran away.

Anyway, as long as I still get to see you, whatever.

I would be super into going camping with you. It’s been forever, and we used to go all the time, and it was awesome. Remember the time we moved into the backyard and told Mom we were going to live off the land?

I looked up a bunch of pictures of those mountains, and holy shit, dude, they’re mindbendingly gorgeous. They must be insane in fall, with the leaves. Could we do a bike trip or something? That’s a thing people do, right?

I’m not much of a city person either. But I’ll be right there, and New York always seemed like it might as well be the moon or Narnia or something, and I like the idea of doing goofy tourist shit with you. Actually, I think I just really like the idea of doing goofy shit with you in general. You’re way too serious, and anyway we have like twelve years of dumb kid shit to catch up on.

No offense to your friends, but that coffee shop sounds like the kind of place you would take a girl you never wanted to talk to again but didn’t want to be the one to dump.

Housing stuff is gradually sorting itself out. Gunning for a studio with no roommates, because hope springs eternal and wearing pants is for suckers. If I get it, I will be counting on your furniture-moving superpowers to get me through the inevitable progression of marginally-less-shitty-than-the-last-one Craigslist couches.

Love,  
Alex


	60. Going to Be Fine

 

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

 

ALEX: just bought plane tix

ALEX: first time in twelve yrs

ALEX: fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

SCOTT: You’re going to be fine

ALEX: i still wish I could have gone with you first

SCOTT: I know. Sorry.

ALEX: its ok. but you have to promise to pick me up at the airport

SCOTT: Okay.

ALEX: and get me ice cream

SCOTT: I can do that.


	61. SUBJECT: Flights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of update today (I say, like most of the chapters are more than a sentence or two. Those subject lines get long, okay?)

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Flights

Alex,

E-mailing to remind you to forward me your flight information so I can get you at the airport.

We can definitely do a bike trip through the mountains. There are some great scenic loops in the Catskills and Adirondacks (or both), and if you’ve got a passport, we can head up into Quebec and Ontario. Do you have a fall break? Or would the end of summer be better? The leaves aren't going to make a lot of difference to me, so whatever works for you is fine.

Love,  
Scott

P.S. If I remember correctly, living off the land ended up involving an awful lot of midnight kitchen raids. That was a good summer.


	62. SUBJECT: Re: Flights

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Flights

Sorry! Neck deep in papers/finals/transfer bullshit. I’ll forward it right now.


	63. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Flights

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Flights

I thought finals weren’t for another few weeks. Or do they spread them out? Either way, good luck!


	64. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Flights

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Flights

Lab finals take fucking forever, and I have like four papers.

Tell me what you’re doing this weekend. I need to pretend there’s life outside of chemostratigraphy.


	65. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Flights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hi, _X-Men_ #32.

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Flights

I hope there’s life outside of chemostratigraphy, because otherwise I’m pretty much doomed.

This weekend is a friend’s birthday, and he’s dragging us into the city for a night. Jean will be down from school, though, which is nice.


	66. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Flights

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Flights

Is she still with that Warren dude?


	67. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Flights

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Flights

They split a while ago.


	68. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Flights

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Flights

Are you going to go for it?

PRO TIP: I HEAR THE BEST WAY TO GET A GIRL TO GO OUT WITH YOU IS TO ACTUALLY ASK HER OUT.


	69. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Flights

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Flights

How’s that working out for you?


	70. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Flights

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
**TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
**SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Flights

Dude, the only kind of dating I have time for right now involves radiocarbon isotopes.

fuck my life

Seriously, though. ASK HER.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Debating pros and cons of going back and adding annotations (probably mostly snark) and/or citation. Preferences? -GJ


	71. Stop It

 

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

 

ALEX: JUST ASK HER

SCOTT: No.

ALEX: YES

SCOTT: Stop it. Seriously.

ALEX: HAVE YOU ASKED HER YET

SCOTT: I’m turning my phone off.

 


	72. Talked

 

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

 

SCOTT: We talked.

ALEX: !!!!!!!!!!!! like talked or talked-talked

ALEX: howd it go

SCOTT: I don't know. Good, I think.

ALEX: you think?

ALEX: did u ask her out or not

SCOTT: We talked.

ALEX: ??????????

ALEX: scott goddamnit

 


	73. SUBJECT: JEAN

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** JEAN

Did you actually go to a party AND talk to a girl? I’m so proud.

You still haven’t told me what happened.


	74. SUBJECT: Chemostratigraphy

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Chemostratigraphy

How are finals going?


	75. SUBJECT: YOU ARE THE WORST

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** YOU ARE THE WORST

Finals are going DID YOU FUCKING ASK HER OR NOT?


	76. SUBJECT: Re: YOU ARE THE WORST

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: YOU ARE THE WORST

I didn’t ask her. But we talked, and I think we’re on the same page.


	77. SUBJECT: Re: Re: YOU ARE THE WORST

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: YOU ARE THE WORST

Are you going to go to her family thing?


	78. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: YOU ARE THE WORST

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: YOU ARE THE WORST

No.


	79. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: YOU ARE THE WORST

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: YOU ARE THE WORST

Why not?


	80. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: YOU ARE THE WORST

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: YOU ARE THE WORST

Because if her family guesses I’m secretly vanished renegade driver Rex Racer, it’ll get weird.


	81. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: YOU ARE THE WORST

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: YOU ARE THE WORST

Isn’t that what the mask is for?


	82. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: YOU ARE THE WORST

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: YOU ARE THE WORST

It’s uncomfortable to swim in.


	83. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: YOU ARE THE WORST

**FROM:** Alex Summers (summersalex@westoahu.hawaii.edu)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: YOU ARE THE WORST

NERD


	84. SUBJECT: go speed racer go

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** go speed racer go

Guess who just aced his LAST FINAL IN HAWAII EVER?

Hint: It was me.

Also, check out that shiny new non-university-affiliated e-mail address!


	85. SUBJECT: Re: go speed racer go

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: go speed racer go

Well done. Does this mean you’re done for the semester? What’s the plan for the next two weeks?


	86. SUBJECT: Re: Re: go speed racer go

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
**TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
**SUBJECT:** Re: Re: go speed racer go

I have two more classes and some shit to take care of with the registrar, but then I am DONE. 

Actually, I have a favor to ask you. The current plan is to pack my shit up and ship it off and live out of a suitcase for now, but my apartment doesn’t open up til like the day before I get there, and I REALLY don’t want to mail my stuff to whoever’s living there now. Can I ship it to you? It’s just going to be two big boxes--anything that doesn’t fit in those is going out the window.

And then I'm going to sleep on the beach and surf for four days, then go back to the Blandings’ for a final round of awkward failure at family bonding.

TWO WEEKS!


	87. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: go speed racer go

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: go speed racer go

Go ahead and send your stuff here. I can bring it when I get you at the airport.


	88. The Second One

 

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

ALEX: EIGHT DAYS

SCOTT: How was the beach?

ALEX: awesome

ALEX: i caught what i am pretty sure is a personal record wave

ALEX: and wiped out like a pro

ALEX: im pretty sure its on youtube

SCOTT: Are you okay?

ALEX: yes. it was epic as fuck though. i wish youd been there

ALEX: hows jeaaaaaaaaaaaaan

SCOTT: Jean is fine.

ALEX: ru officially dating yet

SCOTT: How’s packing going?

ALEX: do you not want to talk about jean because you still havent asked her out or because of the thing where you get weird about talking about stuff you care about

SCOTT: Does it matter?

ALEX: yes

ALEX: because if its the second one ill back off

SCOTT: Then it’s the second one.

 


	89. SUBJECT: See you in a week!

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** See you in a week!

Dear Alex,

How’s the visit going? I know you weren’t looking forward to seeing the Blandings, but I’m really glad you’re taking the time to say goodbye properly. Any big plans for the final week?

Love,  
Scott


	90. SUBJECT: Re: See you in a week!

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xaviersinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: See you in a week!

Dear Scott,

It’s going awkward. They’re obviously really broken up about me leaving, and they’re overcompensating by going into hardcore Stepford parents mode. They say hi, by the way, and to tell you that you should come for Thanksgiving and Christmas, since we’re apparently still pretending that we don’t all know I’m not coming back.

I’m trying not to be an ungrateful asshole for once, since, you know. But _fuck_.

At least Haley gets in tomorrow.

Love,  
Alex


	91. Slightly Less Polite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Debating the pros and cons of posting vignettes and outtakes set in the same somewhat modified timeline. I'm really enjoying writing these versions of the characters, and I'd kind of like to do more with some of the stuff that only shows up as either outright lies or peripheral glimpses in some of the letters, either in the same format, or as more conventional short stories. Is that something people would be interested in?
> 
> As always, thanks for reading. 
> 
> -GJ

 

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

 

Alex: FUCK EVERYTHING

SO

FUCKING

MUCH

SCOTT: Are you okay? Did something happen?

ALEX: totally lost it at joanna

ALEX: shes crying

ALEX: im locked in my room because i cant fucking deal with any of them right now

SCOTT: What happened?

ALEX: nothing

ALEX: theyre so fucking nice

ALEX: i come back here and its like im fifteen

ALEX: i just snap

SCOTT: I’m sorry.

ALEX: you probably never get mad

SCOTT: I get mad.

ALEX: yeah but its scott mad

ALEX: which is what normal people call ‘slightly less polite’

ALEX: i feel like a fucking bomb when im here

ALEX: like either someone will cut the wrong wire or jostle something or eventually the timer will just go off anyway

ALEX: i hate this

SCOTT: I’m sorry.

SCOTT: When does Haley get in?

ALEX: couple hours

ALEX: im supposed to go with andrew to pick her up.

SCOTT: Will you be okay by then?

ALEX: yeah

ALEX: shes going to be pissed

SCOTT: Haley?

ALEX: yeah

SCOTT: Why?

ALEX: because i fucking yelled at her mom until she cried

SCOTT: Right.

ALEX: shes so fucking together

ALEX: its freaky

ALEX: i dont know how to deal with people who arent completely fucked up

ALEX: no offense

SCOTT: None taken.

ALEX: theyre all so fucking normal and nice

ALEX: i wish i was in new york already

SCOTT: Six more days.

ALEX: i know

ALEX: andrews knocking

ALEX: i should probably go apologize

SCOTT: Probably.

ALEX: six days

ALEX: fuck

ALEX: okay


	92. With H

 

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

 

SCOTT: How are you doing?

ALEX: out with h

ALEX: ill email ltr

 


	93. All Heart, No Impulse Control

 

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

ALEX: Is this Scott?

SCOTT: Who is this?

?: Ooh, you’re quick.

?: How’d you know?

SCOTT: Alex doesn’t capitalize or use punctuation.

SCOTT: Who is this?

?: This is Haley.

HALEY: His sister.

HALEY: Adoptive sister.

SCOTT: Is Alex okay?

HALEY: He’s fine.

ALEX: This is Scott, right?

SCOTT: Yes.

HALEY: You’re in his phone as Racer X.

SCOTT: Oh.

SCOTT: Is Alex there?

HALEY: He’s asleep.

SCOTT: Why are you texting me on his phone?

HALEY: I wasn’t trying to trick you.

HALEY: I just wanted to talk to you.

SCOTT: Why?

HALEY: Because you’re his brother.

HALEY: Alternately, because we did a shitton of shots and suddenly it seemed like a brilliant idea to steal his phone

HALEY: You pick.

SCOTT: You’re drunk.

HALEY: Obvs.

HALEY: Who’s Racer X?

SCOTT: He’s Speed Racer’s brother. From the cartoon.

SCOTT: We used to play Speed Racer a lot when we were kids. Alex was always Speed, and I was always Racer X.

HALEY: Cute.

HALEY: I used to make Todd play dragon with me.

HALEY: I was the dragon and he was the knight who came to challenge me, only he always let me win.

HALEY: And then he would die dramatically.

HALEY: I really miss him Scott.

SCOTT: Todd?

HALEY: He was my brother. Before Alex. Real brother.

HALEY: Did Alex not tell you?

HALEY: I guess he probably wouldn’t have.

SCOTT: He only really told me about you.

SCOTT: He never mentioned a brother.

HALEY: Todd’s not his brother. He’s mine. Was.

HALEY: He died before Alex came.

SCOTT: I’m sorry.

HALEY: It completely destroyed my parents.

HALEY: They wanted Alex to be Todd 2

HALEY: It was so messed up.

HALEY: If I was Alex I’d hate him.

HALEY: But I’m not, and he was my big brother, and I miss him so damn much.

HALEY: And now you’re back.

HALEY: And I kind of hate you.

SCOTT: Because I’m not Todd?

HALEY: I know Alex deserves this way more. But there’s part of me that can’t stop thinking that if someone gets a miracle why can’t it be me? I’ve been so good. I tried so hard.

SCOTT: I’m sorry.

HALEY: It’s not your fault.

HALEY: You can never tell Alex any of this, okay?

HALEY: My parents were so insane about Todd.

HALEY: I tried to be different so he’d have someone who wasn’t--you know

HALEY: He was so sad and scared when he got here.

HALEY: He misse dyou so much.

HALEY: Did you miss him?

SCOTT: Yes.

SCOTT: More than anything.

HALEY: He didn’t talk about you a lot, but there were all these little things he’d do

HALEY: Like there was this movie he’d make me watch with him all the time about this kid who got abducted by aliens.

SCOTT: Flight of the Navigator?

HALEY: Yeah.

HALEY: Did you ever see it?

SCOTT: Alex told me about it.

HALEY: I always figured he liked it because of the space stuff, but then I asked him once and he said, “because it’s about how he helps his brother get home.”

HALEY: That’s all it was to him. Brothers. The space stuff was just window dressing.

HALEY: He had this raggedy old bear he carried everywhere with him when he first got here. He’d hide under the bed and talk to it and sometimes I’d listen in, and it was always stuff about you.

HALEY: It was fucking heartbreaking.

HALEY: Where were you, anyway?

SCOTT: Not in space.

HALEY: Did you get adopted too?

SCOTT: No.

HALEY: I’m sorry.

SCOTT: It’s not your fault.

HALEY: Alex didn’t really tell me anything about you. Just that you’ve had a rough time.

HALEY: He says you’re very private.

SCOTT: I guess.

HALEY: He’s not coming back, is he?

SCOTT: I don’t know.

SCOTT: Did he say something?

HALEY: It’s pretty obvious.

SCOTT: I’m sorry.

HALEY: It’s okay. I wouldn’t either.

SCOTT: He cares a lot about you. You know that, right?

HALEY: I can’t believe you’re fucking trying to reassure me.

SCOTT: You’re his sister.

HALEY: Not his real sister.

HALEY: I looked through the pictures of when you were here.

HALEY: I can’t get over how much you look alike.

SCOTT: I don’t want him to lose you because he doesn’t get along with your parents.

SCOTT: Or to think he has to choose.

HALEY: Fuck you.

HALEY: You’re so fucking nice.

HALEY: Why can’t you be a jerk?

SCOTT: I’m sorry.

HALEY: For not being a jerk?

SCOTT: I don’t know.

SCOTT: For everything.

HALEY: It’s not your fault.

HALEY: He would have left anyway next year.

HALEY: God, he’s so stupid cute when he’s asleep.

HALEY: Like a little kid.

SCOTT: Yeah.

SCOTT: Is he mumbling? I love that.

HALEY: Yeah, a little.

HALEY: Want me to take a picture and send it to you?

SCOTT: Yes.

HALEY: [file transferring]

SCOTT: Aw.

SCOTT: It’s still hard to believe that he’s real. And 20.

HALEY: What was he like when he was little? Before the plane crash?

SCOTT: He was incredible.

SCOTT: He wanted to do everything.

SCOTT: I always wanted to know how things worked before I tried them. Alex just dove in headfirst.

SCOTT: He was really into cars and rockets. Anything loud and fast.

SCOTT: He could be kind of intense, but he was the sweetest kid.

SCOTT: When I was 8 or 9, I was in the hospital for a couple days. Alex threw a tantrum when they wouldn’t let him stay. Our dad had to physically pry him off me, and I guess he lectured Alex a lot on the way home about how stuff like that would just make it harder for me.

SCOTT: So the next morning, Alex faked sick and spent the rest of the day calling me and reading me all his picture books.

SCOTT: Dad caught on pretty fast, but what are you going to do?

HALEY: Oh, my god.

HALEY: That’s adorable.

SCOTT: It was really cute.

SCOTT: He was always like that. He cared so much about everything. Our mom said he was all heart, no impulse control.

HALEY: Were you guys really close?

SCOTT: Yeah.

SCOTT: I know it’s completely uncool to be best friends with your little brother when you’re a kid, but other little brothers weren’t Alex.

HALEY: He’s a really good kid.

SCOTT: The best.

HALEY: He was really quiet when he came here.

HALEY: My parents really wanted to make things good for him, but they also really wanted him to fill this Todd-shaped hole in our family.

HALEY: He tried so hard, and then when he was 13 he got mad and never really stopped being mad.

HALEY: I know it’s their fault. But they’re my parents. You know?

SCOTT: Not really, no.

HALEY: Shit. Right. Sorry.

SCOTT: It’s okay.

SCOTT: Thank you.

HALEY: For what?

SCOTT: Being there for him. When I wasn’t.

HALEY: Of course.

HALEY: I’m glad you came back.

HALEY: Look out for him, okay?

SCOTT: Of course.

HALEY: You have to promise.

SCOTT: I promise.

HALEY: You’re a good guy, Scott.

SCOTT: Thanks.

HALEY: It’s been really nice. Talking to you.

HALEY: I’m glad. You, too.

HALEY: Are you going to tell Alex I texted you?

SCOTT: If you don’t, yeah.

HALEY: Don’t tell him the stuff about Todd, please.

HALEY: I don’t want him to think

HALEY: You know.

SCOTT: I won’t.

SCOTT: You might want to delete the messages, though.

HALEY: Obviously.

HALEY: Thanks again.

SCOTT: You, too.

HALEY: G’night.

SCOTT: Good night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, Haley.


	94. SUBJECT: Haley

**TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitue.edu)  
 **FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Haley

Dear Scott,

Oh, my god. I am SO sorry. I had no idea she would do that.

She said it was really good to talk to you, though, so hopefully it was okay for you, too.

Again: SO SORRY. Also so hungover. H is of course fine, because there is no justice in the world. Gonna go stare at the wall until hopefully it stops spinning.

Love,  
Alex


	95. SUBJECT: Re: Haley

**TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitue.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Haley

Dear Alex,

Don’t worry about it. She’s nice. I’m glad I had the chance to talk to her.

Love,  
Scott


	96. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Haley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only four chapters to go 'til the end of Part 1! (And then probably a hiatus while I finish up Part 2. Sorry!)

**TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitue.edu)  
 **FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Haley

That’s pretty much what she said about you, too. You guys better not hook up or something, because if you do I swear to god I will never speak to either of you ever again.


	97. Basically a Superhero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey, an actual letter! Remember when those were a thing in this story?

Dear Scott,

By the time you get this, I’ll be in New York. I’ll be LIVING in New York. How crazy is that?

It’s been a weird week.

The thing about the Blandings is, they really, really want to be good parents. It’s just the person whose good parents they want to be doesn’t exist anymore. (I doubt he really ever did, but that’s not the point.) Haley said she told you a little about Todd, so I don’t know how much of this you already know, but he was like this perfect golden kid who got straight As and was the star of the football team and volunteered a million hours a week at a shelter for puppies in wheelchairs or some shit. Homecoming king. And THAT’S the kid Andrew and Joanna are still trying to raise. Not Haley, who’s fucking awesome, and who they’ve been ignoring pretty much since she was born. And definitely not me.

The really fucked up thing is that they know they do this stuff. They apologize for it. Sometimes it seems like they’re actively trying not to do it, but they still do it, and they never really stop. It’s like they’re stuck in this fucked up holding pattern, like he’s a phantom limb or something. They can’t deal with the fact that their perfect kid is dead, so they pretend extra hard and lay on the happy-family forced cheer with a fucking trowel, and when it cracks, they just double down.

I seriously played along with that shit for _years_. I mean, kind of--I didn’t pretend to like being forced to play football, and I corrected them when they straight-up mixed me up with Todd, and I refused to call them Mom and Dad, but I really tried to be the kid they wanted me to be. (I remain 100% convinced that he was dealing meth out of the basement or something, though. No one is that perfect.) And it didn’t fix anything or snap them out of it, and I got madder and madder, because what the fuck was the point of jumping through all those hoops if everything and everyone stayed just as broken? Their whole living room is like a shrine to him. It’s so sad and fucked up.

This is the part that makes me fucking furious, by the way, a million times more than the shit they pulled with me: Haley is awesome. I don’t know how much she told you when you talked, but she’s a fucking rock star. She’s pretty much the only reason I graduated from high school without running away or burning anything (large) down: We’d fight, and I’d run away, and she’d yell at them until they promised to lay off the Todd stuff, and then find me and yell at me until I promised to act like a human being, lather, rinse, repeat. She got good grades. She has a black belt in judo. She did this pressure-cooker combined-degree thing and teaches kids with emotional and behavioral disorders and is basically a superhero.

Andrew and Joanna give ZERO FUCKS. When Todd was alive, they hardly even noticed her. Which, okay, shining aura of Todd eclipses all else, whatever. And, I mean, she totally loved him, too. She doesn’t talk about him a lot, and he was like five years older, but I get the impression that they were pretty close--I don’t think she just misses him because she misses her parents being sane. Anyway, Mr. Perfect died, and you’d think their parents would go, “Oh, shit, there’s that other kid we totally forgot we had! And she’s awesome! And her brother just died, so maybe let’s give her some actual attention!” HA WAIT NO JUST KIDDING. They kept ignoring her and imported a fucking replacement Todd.

At this point, I get that they’re mostly just sad and fucked up and well-meaning, but I’m really damn done. They’ve gotten better about the Todd stuff--I think it was a wake-up call when I started getting arrested in high school--but now it’s like they think if they call me by the right name and ask about surfing, everything else will just fall away like magic. And they still ignore Haley.

So yeah. Now you know that stuff, and I feel like twice as much of an asshole, because I fully recognize that I am ungrateful as fuck for a childhood that by any reasonable standards was pretty okay (and was nonstop Disneyland and ponies compared to yours); and because I gave you shit for having things you didn’t want to tell me about because you wanted to walk away from them and not look back, which is honestly all I want to do with this. I don’t want resolution or closure or whatever. I just want to be gone and have my own life. Maybe then they’ll actually fucking notice Haley. Or maybe they’ll just adopt another kid and force him to surf and he can grow up resenting me. Either way: not my problem.

Anyway, this week has been weird, because we’re all trying to be chill, and we all know I’m not coming back, but no one’s saying anything about it. Joanna keeps going on and on about holidays and shit, and asking a million questions about you. I seriously think she thinks if she can somehow suck you in, it’ll make me stay or at least come back. That’s what we got into it over on Monday, plus bonus Haley stuff. Haley and I are doing what we do, which is inventing a lot of errands and drinking way too much and generally bonding over the fact that neither of us can even start to talk about this ridiculous fucked up shit to anyone else without sounding insane.

I’m actually really glad you guys are talking, though, or at least talked. She’s awesome and you’re awesome and you’re the two most important people in my life, and while I will live in terror of you teaming up against me or something, it makes me really happy that you get along and it’s not crazy weird. Thanks for being cool about that. I really want to stay in touch with her, and that’s going to be way easier if things aren’t weird between you guys.

I have to go in a minute, because tonight we’re doing the official Last Family Dinner, which hopefully will not end with betrayal and crucifixion or some kind of epic fight. And then tomorrow, Haley’s going to take me to the airport and I’m going to take a whole lot of Xanax and GET ON A FUCKING AIRPLANE, and when it lands, I’m going to be in New York, and I’m going to see you for the second time in twelve years, only this time, I get to stay. (Sometime between those things I’m probably going to call you and freak out and maybe cry about the whole airplane part of this, so, fair warning, except by the time you get this, that will already have happened.)

Remember that letter you sent me before you came to visit? I keep thinking about that, and how much it means that you said you were proud of me, and I wanted to say thank you, for that and for being awesome. I still don’t know that much about your life or what you do, but I know you’ve come incredibly far from where you started, and I’m really proud of you, too.

See you in two days! (Or a few days ago, when you read this.)

Love,  
Alex Rocketship Speed Racer Sir Gareth George Harrison Moving to New York Your Best Brother Forever Summers


	98. The Worst Thing That Could Happen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two to go! O.o
> 
> Still deciding whether to add part two to this, or make it a separate work under the same series umbrella. Preferences/thoughts, if anyone's planning to keep following along?

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

<SUMMERS S> Hello?

<SUMMERS A> [indecipherable] [crying]

<SUMMERS S> Are you okay? What happened?

<SUMMERS A> I can’t--They’re--I can’t do this. It’s twelve hours. I shouldn’t have--I should have gotten a changeover, or--[indecipherable]

<SUMMERS S> Stop talking. Just breathe. Deep breath. Okay?

Guys, I need to take this. Hank, could you run them through M-230 again, and just sub in--

[indecipherable]

Yeah. Thanks. Sorry.

[door closing]

Alex? Are you there?

<SUMMERS A> Yeah.

<SUMMERS S> Okay. First of all, stop and breathe, okay?

<SUMMERS A> ...Okay.

<SUMMERS S> Good. Second, if you’re worried about safety, a direct flight was a good choice. Most incidents occur at takeoff and landing.

<SUMMERS A> I still have to--I just--I can’t.

<SUMMERS S> Okay. Alex. What are you scared is going to happen?

<SUMMERS A> I don’t know. Everything.

<SUMMERS S> Do you want to talk about the aircraft? Like we did when I came down? We can--it’s an A-330, um--

<SUMMERS A> No. It’s not like I’d be able to land it.

<SUMMERS S> That’s true. Let me think.

Hm. Okay.

Remember the time you ran into a doorframe when you were a kid, and you had to get stitches? And I told you the truth, that it was going to hurt, so you knew I was telling the truth when I said you’d be okay?

<SUMMERS A> Yeah.

<SUMMERS S> This is going to be kind of like that. I’m not going to pretend it’s going to be fun or easy, but you’re going to be okay. It’ll probably suck. You’re going to be scared. But you’re going to get through it, and at the end, I’m going to be there, okay?

<SUMMERS A> What if something happens?

<SUMMERS S> Then you already know you can survive it, right? You’ve already been through just about the worst thing that could happen, and you came out of it okay. And you’re a lot older and stronger and smarter than you were then.

<SUMMERS A> I guess.

<SUMMERS S> Did you get a prescription for something?

<SUMMERS A> Yeah. But I don’t think I should take it.

<SUMMERS S> Why not?

<SUMMERS A> Because I don’t--if something happens, I’ll--it’ll slow me down.

<SUMMERS S> So will panic. Take it.

<SUMMERS A> Are you sure?

<SUMMERS S> Yes.

<SUMMERS A> ...Okay.

<SUMMERS S> As directed, though. Follow the instructions. Even if it seems like it’s not working. And don’t try to mix it with anything. And don’t drink.

<SUMMERS A> I know, Mom.

<SUMMERS S> Is Haley taking you to the airport?

<SUMMERS A> Yeah.

<SUMMERS S> Good. Tell her I said to make sure you eat. And take your medication. Okay?

<SUMMERS A> Okay.

<SUMMERS S> Right. Good. And, um, make sure you have plenty of time at the airport, okay? And call me if you need anything. And tell Haley to text me and let me know you got off all right. I don’t think she has, um, you might need to give her my number.

<SUMMERS A> Okay.

<SUMMERS S> You’re going to do fine, okay? It’s going to be hard, but you can do this. And I’ll be waiting in New York. You’ll see me as soon as you’re off the plane. And we’ll get ice cream.

<SUMMERS A> Hey, Scott?

<SUMMERS S> Yeah?

<SUMMERS A> Thank you.

<SUMMERS S> You’re welcome. I love you. Go get some sleep.

<SUMMERS A> I love you, too. Good night.

<SUMMERS S> Good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.

  
 **[end of recording]**


	99. The Runaway Bunny

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

 

<SUMMERS A> Hey.

<SUMMERS S> How are you doing? Did you get through security okay?

<SUMMERS A> Yeah. I’m--I am on so fucking much Xanax.

<SUMMERS S> Is it helping?

<SUMMERS A> I mean, I think I might be biologically incapable of freaking out right now, so, yes?

<SUMMERS S> Good. I, um. So.

Remember that time when we were little and I was in the hospital and they wouldn’t let you stay, so you skipped school and read me picture books over the phone?

<SUMMERS A> Yeah. It was--I mean, if I couldn’t be-there, be-there, I figured I could still--you know. Be there.

<SUMMERS S> Yeah.

I was thinking about that after I talked to Haley, and then I was at the library yesterday, and, um--

<SUMMERS A> Oh, my god. Scott.

<SUMMERS S> So, I’ve got, um, _The Runaway Bunny_ , _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_ , _Where the Wild Things Are_ , and, um, _The House on East 88th Street_. Oh, and _Frog and Toad_. And _If You Give a Moose a Muffin_ , which I know we didn’t have growing up, but it made me think of Night Moose, so I thought you might like it.

<SUMMERS A> Aw. You’re. Aw, Scott. You did that.

<SUMMERS S> Is it too weird? We don’t have to. I just thought it might help.

<SUMMERS A> No. It’s--wow, I am exceptionally stoned. It’s great. It’s the best thing. This is so nice. You're so nice.

I feel like I should get Bear for this.

<SUMMERS S> Whatever you want to do.

<SUMMERS A> Okay. He’s in my backpack. By the top, so I can pretend I’m just being paranoid about my bag. Stealth Bear.

<SUMMERS S> Okay. Ready?

<SUMMERS A> Just a sec, let me--okay. Let’s do this.

<SUMMERS S> Okay.  

_Once upon a time, there was a little bunny who wanted to run away…_


	100. The First Day of the Rest of Your Life

Dear Scott,

NEW YORK NEW YORK NEW YORK NEW YORK NEW YORK NEW YORK NEW YORK NEW YORK NEW YORK

You have to tell me what day this arrives so I know how long it takes letters to get to you now. Probably just a day or so, right? SO COOL. NEW YORK. NEWWWWWWW YOOOOOOOOORK.

Thank you, SO MUCH, for being fucking amazing about the whole flying thing. I still can’t believe you read me picture books over the phone. That was the best, and I’m still super tickled that you remembered that whole thing (although I still think it was bullshit they wouldn’t just let me stay). That was when you were getting those awful headaches, right? Did they ever figure out what those were? You don’t still get them, do you? They were fucking terrifying. Finding you doubled over screaming on the living room floor that first time is still on the list of like top five most traumatic moments of my life.

(Guess what DIDN’T make that list? Flying from Honolulu to New York! BETTER LIVING THROUGH CHEMISTRY AND MAURICE SENDAK.)

I still can’t believe I’m here. I still can’t believe I’m here, and I LIVE here, and you’re ALIVE, and we live like an hour apart, and less than 24 hours ago we were sitting in a diner eating ice cream like normal people. People say “this is the first day of the rest of your life” a lot, but today kind of really is. It’s been a couple years since I changed my name back, but I now I get to actually be that person for real. Alex (Rocketship) Summers. I can keep you and science and surfing and let everything else just fall away and replace it with anything I want, and just be a person.

This year is going to rule so hard.

Love,  
Alex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- End of Part 1 -
> 
> (Part 2 will go up starting--ideally--in mid-November.)


	101. SUBJECT: Furniture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And we're back! If there were an official title page for Part II, it'd go here!

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Furniture

Dear Scott,

Finally kind of almost settled in. If the offer of furniture moving still stands, and you have time this coming weekend, I will totally take you up on it.

ALSO: It still blows my mind that asking you to come over and help move furniture is a thing I can do. New York!

Work looks like it’s mostly going to be mostly regular day job hours, with maybe a few weeks worth of on-site stuff scattered around--free time won’t always be predictable, but there’ll definitely be some longer blocks when we could go camping or whatever. (I’m guessing a lot of it will depend on my advisor’s travel schedule and which grants do or don’t come through at the last possible second, so, basically a preview of the next 6-8 years of my life, or maybe forever, if I don’t sell out and going private-sector.) I’m mostly going to be working under a couple of Dr. Takata’s grad students, who seem pretty chill, at least on the scale of grad students. Also, they took me out for welcome-to-the-project Thai food, and my loyalty can totally be bought with decent curry, so, bros for life.

How’s your summer shaping up? Did Jean end up coming down to visit? (Did that ever get more official? Can you at least tell me whether I can describe her as your girlfriend instead of “the girl my brother most consistently fails to communicate with”?)

Love,  
Alex

P.S. NEW YORK!


	102. SUBJECT: Re: Furniture

**TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Furniture

Dear Alex,

This weekend is fine. When do you want me to come out? Should I plan on bringing a truck?

That reminds me: I dusted off the CB350. She needs a little work, but less than I expected, so whenever you’re road legal and have a better sense of the parking situation, I can bring her out, and we can get started.

Jean is still off with her family, but they’re dropping her back later this week. She wants me to go out to some kind of family dinner thing with them--apparently her parents want to get to know me. You’d still write me if I ran away to Canada, right?

Love,  
Scott


	103. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Furniture

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Furniture

Dear Scott,

How’s Saturday afternoon? We can pick up the furniture, and you can crash here overnight if you want. There is an AWESOMELY shitty dive called Jack’s Shack (I KNOW RIGHT) where most of the earth sci people hang out on the weekends, and we can go drink terrible beer and shoot pool and argue about forensic geomorphology because I know that’s DEFINITELY how you want to spend a Saturday night when your maybe-kind-of-sort-of-girlfriend-or-something is visiting. (She can come if you want, by the way. I assume that’s still out? But if not, it would be cool to meet her.) Or we could stay in and watch movies.

A truck would be awesome, but I can borrow one from someone here if I need to. Just let me know.

I’m going to try to get my permit on Friday. According to the manual (which I’m like 99% sure hasn’t been updated since the ‘70s based on the SUPER GROOVY SIDEBURNS the stock-photo drivers of New York are sporting), I wouldn’t be able to ride without you (or another licensed driver over 21, I guess) nearby, but I probably wouldn’t be doing that yet anyway, right? There’s off-street parking at my complex--I just have to fill out some paperwork to officially claim a space.

No, I will not fucking write to you if you run away to Canada because you’re scared to meet your whatever-the-fuck-you-two-are-calling-it’s parents. Do you know how much international postage costs? Anyway, you’re the kind of boring, responsible dude every parent dreams of their kid hooking up with. Just remember to smile and don’t say anything about your secret double life as Racer X.

Love,  
Alex


	104. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Furniture

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Furniture

Dear Alex,

Saturday afternoon sounds good. I’ll bring the bike and my tools; it shouldn’t take more than a few hours to get it tuned up, and if you’ve got time Sunday we can go riding. I’ll need the truck to bring the bike anyway, so no need to borrow one. Pool and movies both sound fine. I’m still not going to teach you to hustle, though, if that’s what you’re after.

Jean’s going to be here all summer. She knows I won’t be in town every weekend.

I know it’s stupid to be this worried about dinner with her parents. It’s not like I’ve never met them before. But never like this, you know? And being the world’s greatest racer and international secret agent is one thing, but the last time I went to a family anything, I was ten. 

I really like her. I don’t want to mess this up.

Love,  
Scott

P.S. You realize you’re complaining about postage in an e-mail, right?


	105. Make Eye Contact and Smile

****

****

****

****

****

****

 

 

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

 

SCOTT: I need help.

ALEX: whats wrong

SCOTT: Jean gets back today.

ALEX: do you need to hide the shooting star at my place

SCOTT: What do I wear to go out to dinner with her family?

ALEX: seriously

SCOTT: Yes.

ALEX: youre asking me how to dress to go out to dinner with your girlfriends parents

SCOTT: Yes.

ALEX: you realize im going to give you shit about this forever

SCOTT: Probably.

SCOTT: Warren already has. At length.

ALEX: her ex warren?

SCOTT: Yes.

ALEX: you asked your girlfriends ex what to wear to meet her family

SCOTT: Yes.

ALEX: oh my god

ALEX: how are you actually older than me

SCOTT: I don’t have a lot of frame of reference for things like this.

ALEX: apparently

ALEX: where are you going

SCOTT: I don’t know.

SCOTT: She promised it wouldn’t be fancy.

ALEX: okay

ALEX: do you own a suit jacket

SCOTT: Yes.

ALEX: what color

SCOTT: Grey?

ALEX: you dont know what color it is do you

SCOTT: I’m pretty sure it’s grey.

ALEX: oh my god

ALEX: scott

ALEX: how are you even real

ALEX: okay

ALEX: jeans, polo shirt, suit jacket

ALEX: check with someone who isnt your girlfriends ex to see if the colors go

ALEX: shoes that arent sneakers

ALEX: make eye contact and smile

ALEX: youll do fine

SCOTT: Thank you.

 

 


	106. Talk Right Now

****

 

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

 

ALEX: howd it go

SCOTT: I don’t think they hate me.

ALEX: well done

ALEX: did u find out wht color your jacket is

SCOTT: I can’t really talk right now.

ALEX: wait is jean there

SCOTT: Goodnight, Alex.


	107. Owe You One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO MUCH UPDATE TODAY.

Dear Scott,

Thanks for coming up to help me lug around furniture, and for the bike, which I promise (again) to absolutely not ride again until you’re back unless I can find someone else who’s licensed to teach me in the meantime. (I think there are some weekend classes at Metro, but if you’ve got time, I’d way rather learn from you. You’re a really good teacher.) POINT IS: I owe you one. Or, like, a dozen.

I’m going to be out at a site all next week--there’s some kind of big deal nuclear physicist coming out for a few days, and Dr. T (we’re totally making A-Team t-shirts) is getting him to do a super informal practical seminar on gamma sensors, which I realize probably sounds boring as hell if you’re not a huge nerd. Think Chuck Yeager coming to do an afternoon flying workshop or something. SO COOL.

Love,  
Alex


	108. Very Busy and Not Very Predictable

Dear Alex,

The seminar sounds cool. You'll have to let me know how it goes.

This is one of those times when I realize I only have a very vague idea of what you do--I assumed you mostly worked with rocks and things like that. How does gamma radiation tie in? You’re being careful, right?

It looks like I’m going to be traveling for a lot of July, so if you still want to go camping, it’ll probably need to be in the next few weeks. I’m sorry for the hangups--I really do want to see more of you, but work is very busy and not very predictable right now.

Love,  
Scott

P.S. I’m genuinely impressed that you know who Chuck Yeager is.


	109. Crazy Classified Government Lab

Dear Scott,

The seminar was kind of a mixed bag. Banner is brilliant--listening to him and Dr. T talk drives home just how little I actually know about this stuff (and how insanely lucky I am to have gotten this gig), and I think I learned more about EM sensors in like two hours of Q&A than the last year at UH. He’s also a super nice dude--crazy polite and kind of jumpy, so you two would probably get along.

The practical section was briefly great, and then not so much. Guess which dumbass undergrad has two thumbs and blew out one of the most sensitive experimental arrays we had access to? Banner says it couldn’t have been anything I actually did--apparently the random overloading was a bug he thought he’d worked out, something to do with filtering specific spectral sections that I only sort of understand--but EVERYTHING on the site was wired through it, so we’re going to be spending the next two weeks recalibrating and hoping that it wasn’t actually a massive localized EM phenomenon that we’re now missing because half our gear is fried.

On the upside, either Dr. Banner thinks I have potential or he feels super guilty about what happened with the sensors, because he gave me his card and said if I ever wanted to play with gamma rays I should look him up. He works in some kind of crazy classified government lab, but holy shit, if I ever go in that direction, he’d be a hell of a mentor.

Long story short, I’m chained to the lab at least until we’re up and running again. We’ve got a four-day weekend over the 4th, though. Want to go camping or something? Or just come sit on the roof and watch fireworks and drink?

Love,  
Alex

P.S. YES, we’re careful, you goon. This isn’t 1910; these days, we only throw radium cocktail parties for REALLY special occasions.

P.P.S. I know, right? It’s almost like my dad was a test pilot!


	110. The Whole Mutant Phenomenon

Dear Alex,

Sorry to hear about the sensors. It sounds like meeting Dr. Banner was good at least. (Incidentally, Professor Xavier actually knows him--apparently Dr. Banner’s old roommate is a good friend of his. I’d say “What are the odds?” but at this point I just assume Professor Xavier knows just about everyone in the world, and definitely everyone in the sciences.)

Camping over the 4th sounds great. You’re really not experienced enough for mountain roads, but we can just take my bike--it’s got more room for gear, too, although I’d just as soon keep that on the light side. I’ll pick you up on Thursday morning at around 9:00.

Love,  
Scott

P.S. I looked up radium cocktail parties. What the hell is wrong with people? I know everyone used to be incredibly cavalier about radiation, but I didn’t know they used to go out of their way to _drink it_.

It kind of puts the whole mutant phenomenon in a new perspective, too: like someone planting seeds in their yard and then being shocked when they sprout. What did they expect to happen?

P.P.S. I didn’t mean to imply anything with the Yeager thing. You just never really seemed that interested in the details when we were kids, and I figured it wasn’t the kind of thing you’d have been into looking up after the crash.


	111. Killing Us All

Dear Scott,

I think they mostly just thought it’d be cool to glow in the dark.

The Chem 101 scare story that always stuck with me the most was the watch-dial girls. They used to use radium to make glow-in-the-dark watches, and they’d hire these teenage girls to paint the dials and teach them to lick the brushes to get them to a point, so like ten years later every single one of them was dying of cancer, with their jaws dropping off and shit. All for glow-in-the-dark watch hands.

It always makes me wonder which cool new thing we have now is going to turn out to be killing us all in 20 years. I think that’s part of why I like earth science. Humans are so small and flimsy and new that it’s kind of reassuring to study something way, way too big and old to accidentally break (unless you’re a climatologist, obvs).

Are mutants really that directly linked to prior radiation exposure? I thought it was more of a natural punctuated equilibrium thing? Not really my department, though.

I can’t believe Xavier knows Dr. Banner! That’s so random. What’s his actual field, anyway (assuming it’s not SUPER TOP SECRET)? I assumed education or social sciences, but Banner doesn’t strike me as the kind of dude who gets out of his own department much.

SO EXCITED ABOUT CAMPING. And seeing your mysterious bike, which I assume can fly or something, what with the whole international secret agent racer deal. It better at least be yellow and black. And have a 9 somewhere on it.

Love,  
Alex

P.S. Honestly, I was just fucking with you. I only know who Yeager is from _The Right Stuff_.


	112. Fascinating and Incredibly Sad

Dear Alex,

I hadn’t heard of the radium girls, but it turns out Jean actually knows a lot about them, and she pointed me to a documentary called _Radium City_. Have you seen it? It’s about a town in Illinois where one of the factories was, and the women who worked there, and the labor laws that came out of their case. It’s fascinating, and incredibly sad. Also a terrible date movie, for the record.

Professor Xavier is primarily a geneticist. He’s got some kind of interdisciplinary chair at Columbia--mostly attached to the biology department, I think, but a lot of what he does has to do with public policy and ethics (and almost all of it goes way over my head). I asked him if he knew Dr. Takata, and he says no but that she’s one of the best in her field, for what that’s worth.

My bike is black; it can’t fly; and just so we’re clear, if you try to paint a 9 (or anything else) on it, no one will ever find your body.

Love,  
Scott

P.S. God, I love that movie. Did you know the real Chuck Yeager actually plays the bartender in the bar where all the test pilots hang out? How cool is that?


	113. Entirely Unsurprised

Dear Racer X,

Can I at least paint the CB350 to look like the Mach 5?

Also, what do I need for the weekend?

Love,  
Speed Racer

P.S. I did not know that, but I am entirely unsurprised that you do. Did you know that you’re a huge nerd?


	114. Any Color You Want

Dear Speed,

When you get your own bike, you can paint it any color you want.

I’ll take care of gear and supplies. Just make sure you’ve got a jacket and helmet (which I know you do), decent hiking boots, and a couple changes of clothes. If the boots are new, make sure you’ve broken them in ahead of time. Plan on packing very light.

Love,  
Racer X

P.S. Guilty as charged, but it’s still the greatest movie of all time.


	115. Plausible Deniability

Dear Scott,

BEST. WEEKEND. EVER. Also, I think I’m developing feelings for your bike.

I’m going to out on site a bunch this month, and I know you’re crazy busy too, and I was serious when I promised to try not to crowd you, but do you want to maybe come up again around the end of July? It doesn’t have to be anything big.

Love,  
Alex

P.S. In case no one has explained this to you before, showing up with three broken fingers and refusing to explain what happened does not really help with plausible deniability on the Racer X front.

P.P.S. In case no one also explained this to you before, you don’t have a monopoly on worrying. Whatever it is you actually do, be careful, okay?


	116. Always Careful

Dear Alex,

I’m glad you had a good time. Me, too. Yes, the end of July sounds good, at least tentatively--I won’t really know until closer to then.

You are my brother and I love you, but you’re not going to talk me into letting you borrow my bike. 

Love,  
Scott

P.S. I know. Sorry.

P.P.S. Don’t worry. I’m always careful.


	117. SUBJECT: Checking In

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Checking In

Dear Alex,

How’s the work crunch going? I know you’re busy, so, no worries if you don’t have time to write back. (What does your job consist of, anyway? I still only have a very murky idea of what geophysicists actually do.)

Things here are still crazy--predictably unpredictable, basically--but the end of July’s still looking good for camping, if you’re still up for it and the weather holds.

Love,  
Scott


	118. SUBJECT: Re: Checking In

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Checking In

Dear Scott,

Work crunch is crunchy. Geophysicists do all kind of stuff, but _my_ job is mostly checking field data and entering it into spreadsheets, because I’m a lowly undergrad. VERY EXCITING. I’m getting to do more analysis, though, and meeting pretty regularly with Dr. T, since this counts for a class credit, plus I’m supposed to be planning my actual thesis research. And I make coffee. SEXY ADVENTURES IN FIELD GEOPHYSICS!

YES. Still totally up for camping.

Love,  
Alex


	119. Week After Next

****

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

SCOTT: I can’t make this weekend. I’m really sorry.

ALEX: work?

SCOTT: Yeah.

SCOTT: Sorry.

SCOTT: Can we reschedule for week after next? Or will you be out in the field?

ALEX: sure

SCOTT: Sorry.


	120. Would Have Found Us

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

<SUMMERS S> Alex? Are you okay? What’s going on?

<SUMMERS A> I just wanted to talk.

<SUMMERS S> Alex, it’s--it’s three in the morning.

<SUMMERS A> I know.

<SUMMERS S> Are you--what’s wrong?

<SUMMERS A> I forgot. I always forget until--

Tomorrow’s the twelfth.

<SUMMERS S> The twelfth?

<SUMMERS A> August twelfth.

<SUMMERS S> I think I’m missing something. What’s August twelfth?

<SUMMERS A> The crash.

<SUMMERS S> Oh. God.

Wow. I had no idea.

I never--I thought it was in September.

<SUMMERS A> No.

I just--I can’t stop--

[silence]

Do you think they’re alive?

<SUMMERS S> What?

<SUMMERS A> Mom and Dad. Do you think they’re alive? I can’t stop thinking about it. Ever since you--

<SUMMERS S> No.

<SUMMERS A> But if--

<SUMMERS S> I’m sorry, Alex.

They would have found us. You know that.

<SUMMERS A> What if they thought we were dead, too?

<SUMMERS S> I don’t think they would have just--they’d have looked. They knew we had a parachute, right? The wouldn’t just have given up.

And--I don’t want to say this, but I don’t see how they could possibly have survived. I mean, from what you told me. I’m sorry.

<SUMMERS A> They could have--Dad was a test pilot, he was the best, he should have been able to--

<SUMMERS S> Alex…

[silence]

<SUMMERS A> I don’t even really remember their voices. Mom’s maybe. But not Dad’s. Do you?

<SUMMERS S> I, um, I don’t know. I think so. Maybe. Or at least that I’d recognize them. But there’s not really any way to be sure.

Tomorrow. God. I had no idea.

<SUMMERS A> I never know what to do.

<SUMMERS S> No. There’s not really--I can come up. If you want.

<SUMMERS A> Would that be okay?

<SUMMERS S> Sure. Of course. I mean, if you don’t--don’t you have work?

<SUMMERS A> I’m going to call in. They won’t care. It’s just data entry right now.

<SUMMERS S> Okay.

<SUMMERS A> I’m sorry I woke you up.

<SUMMERS S> It’s okay.

I’m glad you called. I wouldn’t have known.

Do you want me to bring anything?

<SUMMERS A> No. I don’t know.

I just kind of want to stay home and--

I don’t know. Nothing. I just want it not to have happened.

<SUMMERS S> Yeah.

<SUMMERS A> I should--if you’re driving up tomorrow, I should let you get back to sleep.

<SUMMERS S> I don’t know if that’s really--anyway, I’ll be fine. That’s what coffee is for.

What do--um, what do you usually do? On the--um, the twelfth.

<SUMMERS A> Nothing. It always--I always forget, and then it’s there.

Last year I got really drunk and went to these cliffs and just watched the water all day.

<SUMMERS S> We could do that.

<SUMMERS A> I thought you didn’t really drink.

<SUMMERS S> I don’t, but--Anyway, we can figure it out when I get there.

<SUMMERS A> Thanks.

<SUMMERS S> Alex?

<SUMMERS A> Yeah.

<SUMMERS S> Nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m, um. I’m going to try to get some sleep, okay? You should, too.

<SUMMERS A> Okay.

Thanks.

Love you, Scott.

<SUMMERS S> You, too.

 

**[end of recording]**

 

 


	121. Fuck Up the Future

Dear Scott,

Are you actually asleep? I’m guessing not, but I’m not going to call again just in case, so I’m writing instead and trying to remember that you’re going to be here in like five hours and trying to believe that you really are going to be here in five hours. If you were a ghost, today’s the day you’d probably disappear, like I’d open the door and--

I really don’t want to be thinking about this.

I don’t know if I’m going to send this. Maybe I’ll just give it to you when you get here. Maybe I’ll light it on fire and throw it out a window and start a forest fire and go down in history as the dumbass who burned down New York.

I fucking hate August. I always feel like I should do something on the 12th, and I never know what the hell to do, and it always sneaks up on me. Once it was the first day of school and I didn’t even remember until I was already in class, so I snapped a pencil into as many pieces as I could (less than you’d think) and shredded the pieces until they let us out, and then I skipped the rest of the day and got in a shitton of trouble. The Blandings never made the connection, and I never told them, because fuck them. (Haley would’ve, but she was away at college by then. She knew because the year I was ten I ran away to the park by our house and climbed to the top of the tallest tree I could find, and then freaked out and couldn’t get down. She had to climb up after me and talk me down, and I fell the last ten feet and broke my ankle, which was honestly kind of a relief, or at least a distraction, or at least an excuse to cry without having to explain why I really was.)

Last year, it was right before the semester started, and it was raining, and I drank most of a fifth of unspeakably shitty vodka and rode my bike to the cliffs and sat and watched the water and talked to you.

I used to talk to you at the beach a lot, back when you were still dead. Did I ever tell you about that? I think I might have when you visited the first time, but I can’t remember. There was this guy who I used to surf with who went by Eagle or Hawk or something equally obnoxious and made up (I think his actual name was Darren or something. What a jackass.). He was one of those asshole hippie stoners with a nonspecific tribal tattoo who thinks surfing is a religion and constantly hits on high school girls even though he’s like 30, and he used to go on about how the beach was where life and death came together, like land and sea. Anyway, I liked the idea, even if DarrenHawkEagleWhatever was a douchebag creeper. I never lit candles at church or any of that, but I talked to you at the beach. Mom and Dad sometimes, too, but mostly you. Did you ever do anything like that?

I was so excited when you came back I think I kind of forgot for a while that it didn’t actually erase any of the bad stuff (I mean, except the you-still-being-dead part, obviously). It's all just lumped in together now, good and bad, and I don’t know what to do with any of it.

I just e-mailed Dr. T and my supervisor and told them I was sick, which seems close enough. I feel sick. Can we just hang out on my shitty couch and watch shitty TV and get delivery and ignore the world? I know it’s not really much of a thing to do, but everything feels completely pointless and stupid, and if there’s no point in doing anything we might as well do nothing.

What do people do with shit like this? In high school, I had to go to this asshole court-appointed counselor for a while, and he was always going on about making meaning out of meaninglessness, and how people who’ve lost loved ones can take that loss and find purpose in it. Talking about charities and memorials and shit. And I said okay, great, I’ll be like the cancer people. All I really need to make my whole family being dead into the best thing that ever happened is tie a fucking ribbon on it. We can have my family died in a plane crash awareness week.

He kept asking, didn’t I want to honor your memories? And I kept trying to explain that no one else probably even fucking remembered you.

Then he asked if I was proud of that, and whether I thought you guys would be proud or ashamed of the legacy I was building for you, and I punched him in the face.

Do you ever wonder if time travel is a real thing? Remember when we used to play time machine and fight dinosaurs and stuff? (Explore, anyway--you never actually wanted to fight dinosaurs because you were worried we would fuck up the future, which is like the most  _Scott_ thing ever.) When I first got to Hawaii, some of the kids would play time machine at recess, but I never bothered, because there was only one place I’d ever have wanted to go back to, and fuck the timeline, and fuck all the babies who wouldn’t have been born and everyone who would have been screwed over, because it would have been worth it. I’d go back and tell Dad, or tell you, or smash up the plane so it wouldn’t fly, and I’d wake up in Alaska with a gorgeous girlfriend and a perfect life and you and Mom and Dad, and it would all be very Back to the Future, except I wouldn’t even remember having done it, and all the bad shit would just be gone. Whoosh. I’d never have gone to Hawaii, and you’d never have had to become Racer X, and the future could just fucking deal with its own problems or not.

And now it’s like 6 AM, and I’m just done. Gone. Maybe I’ll watch TV until you get here. Maybe we can rent a bunch of time travel movies and drop them off the roof.

Love,  
Alex


	122. Who We Lost

Dear Alex,

You fell asleep while we were watching TV, and I don’t want to wake you up--I don’t think you really slept last night at all--so I thought now might be a good time to write back.

I used to talk to you at first, in the hospital, when I still thought you were alive. I’d tell you that I was coming to find you, and to wait, and to not go anywhere so you wouldn’t get lost, and I’d tell other people to tell you things. After I found out--once I started to believe it--I spent a lot of time trying to remind myself that you were dead. I still talked to Mom and Dad sometimes in my head, but not you; because with you, it felt like ripping that open again every time.

Since we talked last night, I’ve been thinking a lot about Mom and Dad, and the things I do and don’t remember.

Professor Xavier told me once that we carry the dead with us. That instead of ghosts or angels or abstract legacies, they exist as things we keep in our--I’m trying to remember his exact wording--stewardship, I think. So, from that perspective, the Mom and Dad you or I talk to aren’t the Mom and Dad who were real and alive, exactly; they’re ones who only ever existed in our minds and memories, and never died to begin with.

I don’t know if that helps--honestly, the whole philosophy kind of flies over my head--but it’s all I can think of to say. I’d still prefer the real thing. It bothers me that they died before I really learned to think of them as people who existed beyond being our parents. I remember them, and I know things about them, but I don’t feel like I ever really knew them--that even if Professor Xavier is right and there’s a Mom and Dad who exist uninterrupted in my mind, Christopher and Katherine Ann Summers are still gone, and I’m never going to know who they really were. That’s the part I hate most--not that they weren’t there for us growing up, but that we’ll never really even know who we lost.

A lot of my memories of dad have to do with planes, or flying. That was what we talked about when he was alive, and it was what I talked to him about in my head after, especially when I was first learning to fly. I talk to him a lot less these days, but I still sort of pretend to race him to name planes.

Mom is more complicated. I spent more time with Dad, at least when he was around--again, planes--but I was closer to Mom. Or she was just closer in general, because she was there more. I don’t know.

I don’t know how much you remember about the couple years when I was getting those headaches. The scariest part was never how much it hurt. That was too overwhelming to be scary; there was nothing left to react with. It was how completely out of control it felt, like being pinioned and split open in front of the whole world. It was too big to hide under the bed. I knew it scared you too, and that made it a million times worse. And I never told Mom any of that, but I think she knew, because after the first time, she would always be there, sort of between me and everything else. That time at the hospital when they wouldn’t let you stay, that was her. She told me later that she told Dad to take you home because if it was just her there I wouldn’t have to pretend it was more okay than it was. That’s what I remember most about her. The way she just knew stuff like that, and that when she said it was okay, I believed her. There’s never been anyone else who it really felt alright to let go in front of.

So Mom is the one I talk to about you. And Jean. And when I’m not sure what to do. And the things that matter that I don’t tell anyone real or alive about, because ghosts can’t--you know.

I still miss them, but it’s old. Dull, until something makes it flare up, but it always recedes to the background eventually. It was different with you--at ten, I knew somewhere in the back of my head that they would die eventually, but it had never really occurred to me that you could.

You just started talking in your sleep--just kind of mumbling, and you sounded so sad, so I came over and told you it was okay and pushed your hair out of your face, and you quieted down. I wish I could make this easier for you. I wish I remembered more about them that I could tell you. I’m sorry that you had to remember everything by yourself for all that time, and that even with me back, you still have to remember the worst parts alone.

The only thing I’m really sure of is that Mom and Dad would be as proud of you as I am. That social worker didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.

Love,  
Scott


	123. Something Secret and Special

Dear Scott,

Thanks for coming up last week. I know sacking out and watching movies for twelve hours was a weird way to do that, but it was--not nice, but comforting, I guess. Being fucked up and sad together sucks a lot less than being fucked up and sad alone.

And thanks for what you wrote in that letter. I think I get what Professor Xavier meant, about people and memory, but, yeah, that’s worth a lot less to me than the real thing.

I actually know exactly what you were talking about, with Mom. I always kind of thought of Mom as mine and Dad as yours, but when you started getting sick, it felt like it sort of switched. I remember thinking it was kind of cool, because hanging out with Dad always made me feel like a grown-up, like I was getting to be more like you. He was a lot of fun.

For what it’s worth, I don’t know if Mom told him or he just caught on to more than you knew, but what you said in the letter is pretty much EXACTLY what Dad told me after we left the hospital. I was really upset, and he said that part of what made you such a good big brother was that if I was there, you would always be trying your best to protect me; but that this was really hard and scary for you and the best way for us to help would be to let you only have to deal with one thing at a time for a little while.

That’s why I came up with the thing with the books. It was what Mom always did if I felt lousy, and it always seemed, I dunno, kind of safe and easy? Like, it was a distraction, and a reminder that she was there, but I didn't have to do anything or even pay attention, you know? So by my weirdo kid logic, it was a way for me to be there for you, but not in a way that you'd feel like you had to worry about looking after me, because OBVIOUSLY if I was the one reading, it meant I had my shit together Mom-style.

What you wrote about not really knowing them as people makes a lot of sense. Me, too, although I never thought to put it that way. There’s so much I don’t know about them and never will, and it makes me so fucking sad and angry. I get the impression that they were really fucking cool people, and it pisses me off that I’m never really going to get to know them.

I keep trying to think of moments when they were themselves, not just our parents. Once I went out on to the porch, and they were sitting together on the steps, and Dad was braiding Mom’s hair. I just sat and watched and didn’t say anything. It felt like getting to see something secret and special, and if they’d known I was there, it would have ruined it. When I think of them together, that’s always what I think of.

Love,  
Alex


	124. Never Even Thought to Ask

Dear Alex,

I had no idea Dad had told you that. That was very cool of him. I don’t think I ever really knew how much he did or didn’t notice, since it was usually Mom on the front lines with that stuff. (And yes, the thing with the books was perfect. You were and are the best little brother ever.)

I have a Mom-and-Dad-being-people moment, too. Mine is--probably predictably--from a plane trip. (It occurs to me that I have no idea what Mom did before she and Dad got married, or before I was born. Do you know? I know she was a licensed pilot, but I’m not sure if that’s something she started doing before or after she and Dad got together, or if it started as work or a hobby.) Anyway, they were in the cockpit, and you were asleep, and I think they thought I was asleep. They were talking really quietly, and laughing, and Dad kept reaching over and messing with things on Mom’s console, and she kept smacking his hand away and laughing, like they were kids flirting.

I think they were really, really in love, but I don’t know if that was true, or if it's just that the way they were was where I got my idea of what love looks like. All kids probably want to think their parents love each other. But the way they talked and looked at each other when they thought we weren’t paying attention really stuck with me.

Do you know how they met? It seems so stupid that I never even thought to ask.

How are you doing? I looked up the OL calendar online; it looks like your semester is starting soon. What are you taking? Do you still want to try to squeeze in a camping trip between now and then?

Love,  
Scott


	125. Epic and Ridiculous

Dear Scott,

I always thought they were really in love, too. I wish I’d been old enough to appreciate how cool that was instead of thinking it was gross and embarrassing. No, I don’t know how they met, or what Mom did before. I wish I did.

I can’t believe summer is almost over. It’s been so fast. Dr. T and I finally sat down to talk about my courseload for this semester--it looks like it’s going to be Calc III, Field Applications II (summer counts as Field Lab), and then thesis lab and seminar, so basically I am never going to sleep again. AND I HAVE A THESIS TOPIC! It’s going to involve applications of remote gamma sensing in geomorphology, which is a good excuse to stay in touch with Dr. Banner, even though Dr. T warned me a couple times about not getting sucked into whatever it is he does. (I get the impression it involves hella sketchy defense-contract type stuff, which frankly doesn’t interest me anyway. Reliable funding is for suckers.) 

Anyway, when we were talking, Dr. T asked how New York compared to Hawaii, and that got me thinking about everything, and you, and how weird it is that it actually feels normal to have you around now. That calling you at 3 AM and asking you to come over is a thing I can do without even thinking about it (I mean, aside from the basic “oh shit most people probably sleep” considerations) Like finally getting used to breathing normally (remember that?).

Back before, I used to have this recurring dream that I fucking hated, that you were alive and okay, and we were just hanging out and catching up somewhere (usually up in that tree by the old house that we used to climb a ton). I could never see your face all the way, but I knew it was you. Waking up from that was the absolute fucking worst, way worse than nightmares about the crash, because with those, I’d at least wake up and be okay, but with you, I’d wake up and you’d just be gone again. It was never Mom or Dad, either, just you. And I just realized I haven’t had that dream since you wrote me back in April. It’s like that part of me had figured it out, and now the rest is finally starting to catch up to actually really truly believing that you’re alive.

BUT FIRST, URGENT BUSINESS: I’m not going to have any free weekends before the semester starts, but your birthday is in like three weeks, isn’t it? (September 10th, right? If I’m misremembering this, I am going to feel like such an asshole.) 

We should do something epic and ridiculous, because I suspect you have a lot of rad birthdays to make up. I don’t know what yet, but if you don’t have anything in mind, I’ll come up with something. (I just realized you might already have plans with Jean, in which case you have to let me come up with something awesome around it.) I’m thinking something involving roller coasters and a shitton of kids’ birthday party gear and maybe a beach and possibly also an epic crime spree. Atlantic City?

Love,  
Alex


	126. A Thing I Just Do Sometimes

Dear Alex,

I know what you mean about the normal-being-weird thing. I was thinking about weekend plans, and I realized that going to see you is a thing I just do sometimes now, and how weird and amazing that is.

I don’t really celebrate my birthday. If it’s important to you, we’ll do something; but it’s going to be for you, not me. It’s really just a date on my driver’s license at this point. Sorry.

Love,  
Scott


	127. The Fun Half of the Summers Family

Dear Scott,

With the power vested in me by virtue of being the fun half of the Summers family, I hereby decree that we are celebrating your goddamn birthday this year, and that it will be both epic and awesome. This is not up for debate. If you can’t figure out a way to make it be for you, make it about giving me something I really, really, really want, which is a kickass weekend with my dorky older brother that he actually enjoys and doesn’t get to squirrel out of because he’s scared of fun.

BOOM. DECREED.

So, here’s the deal: Either you can give me a list of stuff you want to do, or I can guess. If it’s the former, you can at least make sure it’s something you want to do. If it’s the latter, it is 100% guaranteed to be more awesome, but there’s also a chance you might hate it. PLAY THE ODDS.

Love,  
Alex

P.S. I know I’m being a jerk about this, but it’s really important to me, and as your irresponsible dick of a little brother, it is my god-given duty to drag you out and force you to have a good time for once in your life. Which you will, because I am the BEST irresponsible dick of a little brother.

P.P.S. I swear I won’t tell anyone if you actually have fun.


	128. Hitting the Ground Running

Dear Alex,

I have fun. Camping is fun. Riding in the mountains is fun. Flying is fun. Going to bars and being baffled while you and your colleagues talk about geophysics is fun. (Kicking your ass at pool would be fun if it weren’t so easy.)

Birthdays generally aren’t fun, for the same reason holidays generally aren’t fun. They’re all about a lot of things I taught myself not to want a long time ago.

You being here changes some of that, obviously. I still don’t have a good answer to your question, but I’ll do my best.

The things I want aren’t really specific to special occasions. Is that okay? I want to spend time with you, and if my birthday’s a good excuse to do that, it can be a birthday thing. I don’t want to go somewhere loud or with a lot of people, and I don’t want to be the center of attention anywhere, and I’d like to do something that I know is fun for you, too. Beyond that, I trust you.

Love,  
Scott

P.S. Thank you for this. I’m trying not to be ungrateful. But like I said, this is new, and I’m not always great at hitting the ground running.


	129. SUBJECT: YOUR MISSION SHOULD YOU CHOOSE TO ACCEPT IT

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** YOUR MISSION SHOULD YOU CHOOSE TO ACCEPT IT

Dear Racer X / 007 / Angel / Inspector Gadget,

Your mission is as follows:

  * Make sure you have Friday, Saturday, and Sunday off. Can you not be on call? If you can do that, do it.
  * Be at my place sometime late Friday morning (after 10:30 because I have to pick some things up that morning).



Requisition the following from the quartermaster:

  * Clothes
  * A swimsuit
  * Any other overnight stuff you need for the weekend
  * OPTIONAL BUT HIGHLY RECOMMENDED: Cufflinks that can turn into super magnets or something equivalently rad.



THIS MESSAGE WILL SELF DESTRUCT AS SOON AS YOU DELETE IT AND EMPTY YOUR TRASH

Love,  
Inspector Detector / M / Charlie / Chief Quimby


	130. Supermagnet Cufflinks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sure, there's a new chapter, but the real news is that there's *also* a real chapter total! (And so much to destroy in the next 71...)

****

****

 

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

SCOTT: Can you tell me roughly what I’m packing for?

ALEX: nothing fancy

ALEX: mostly outside

ALEX: stuff you dont mind getting wet

SCOTT: Okay.

SCOTT: Bike or car?

ALEX: im borrowing a car from a friend for the weekend so whatever you want to drive up

SCOTT: Okay.

ALEX: definitely the supermagnet cufflinks though

ALEX: unless you can get a pen that shoots poison

ALEX: not that were going to need to poison anyone

ALEX: unless the french ambassador catches on

ALEX: also maybe flip flops or something


	131. Something I Knew How to Do

Dear Alex,

I don’t even know where to start, besides thank you; and that _yes_ , you do in fact still know me really, really well; and that I can’t imagine a nicer birthday. It’s like the breathing thing: when things have been bad for a long time, _okay_ is such a relief that you forget there’s something even farther on the other side, and it’s almost overwhelming.

Almost, hell. It’s overwhelming. I’m overwhelmed. I think this used to be something I knew how to do.

Thank you, again, so much. And please thank your friend for letting us use the cabin and boat.

Love,  
Scott

P.S. Were you serious about wanting to try hang gliding? I would definitely be up for that. I’ve never gone, but it looks incredibly fun. Are you sure you’d be okay with it, given the flying thing?


	132. Totally Calm and Totally Focused

Dear Scott,

Oh, man, I’m so glad. I TOLD YOU. Did you seriously think it was going to be strip clubs or something?

(If it makes you feel any better, you were pretty bad at fun when you were a kid, too.)

I really love the water. It’s one of the only places I’ve ever felt totally calm and totally focused, like there’s nothing I have to do except for what I’m doing in that moment. (Obviously oceans are a million times better than lakes, but lakes are a million times better than land, so there.) I’m officially adding an actual sailing trip to the list of awesome shit we should plan for once I’m out of thesis hell.

YES. 100% in for hang gliding. I’ve always wanted to try. I’m actually pretty down with the idea of flying--it’s the machinery that freaks me the hell out. (Still want to go flying with you, too, though. Can we still do that?)

I’m going to be nose down for at least the next month, but maybe we could go gliding in early October, and catch the leaves from above? Or fold it into a motorcycle trip over fall break?

Love,  
Alex

P.S. Now that you’re down with birthdays, does this mean we can start talking about Thanksgiving and Christmas? Because there’s no way in hell I’m going back to Hawaii.


	133. Satisfyingly Direct

Dear Alex,

I absolutely see what you mean about sailing. It reminds me a lot of what I love about flying, but there’s something satisfyingly direct about doing everything with your hands instead of a console (which is part of why gliding always seemed like it would be cool, aside from being the next closest thing to having wings).

I like the idea of folding gliding into a longer trip in October. That’ll give me time to check it out a couple times and get a feel for it (and if I can get decent at it in the interim, it means we’ll have more options when we go).

I’m still getting used to the idea of Thanksgiving and Christmas being things to look forward to. But yes. Let’s.

Love,  
Scott


	134. SUBJECT: Fall Break

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Fall Break

Dear Alex,

You’re going to love gliding. It’s amazing--completely different from flying.

Looking at routes. I think we should do the Green Mountains instead of the Adirondacks--more back roads and open camping, and there’s a gliding place at a pretty ideal midpoint for a six-day trip.

I’ll be there at about 9:00 AM Sunday.

Pack light but warm.

Love,  
Scott


	135. The Only One Who Knows Where Everything Is

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

<SUMMERS A> Green Mountains or bust!

<SUMMERS S> Alex.

<SUMMERS A> Are you packing? You’d better be packing.

<SUMMERS S> Alex, I--

<SUMMERS A> What’s up? Is something wrong?

<SUMMERS S> I can’t. Next week. I’m sorry. I--

<SUMMERS A> Are you okay?

<SUMMERS S> I’m--not really. Sorry. I can’t come this week. You should still go. I’ll, um, I’ll send you the--

<SUMMERS A> Are you--you sound really weird. Are you sick?

[silence]

Scott?

[silence]

Scott, what’s going on?

<SUMMERS S> Professor Xavier--um. Sorry. God.

Professor Xavier is, um--he's dead.

<SUMMERS A> Oh, my god. When? What happened? Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?

<SUMMERS S> Yesterday. I--he’d--I guess he’d been sick for a while, he just hid it. I can’t believe he--that he wouldn’t have--

It still doesn’t seem real.

<SUMMERS A> Oh, fuck. I’m so sorry, Scott. Do you want me to come down?

<SUMMERS S> No. You should still--you should go camping. Bring a friend or something, I don’t know. I can switch the reservations at the hang gliding place to your name.

I’m really sorry.

<SUMMERS A> Jesus, don’t apologize. Just--let me help. Talk to me. Something. Please.

<SUMMERS S> I’m serious. This isn’t--I can’t afford to be--there’s too much to do, and I don’t have time to fall apart or be distracted. It’s really just--I mean, it’s not just me, but mostly, right now, and I don’t really--

<SUMMERS A> Is there going to be a service? I could come for that. You shouldn’t be--I know you were really close to him.

<SUMMERS S> It’s private. Please--seriously, Alex, please don’t do this right now.

<SUMMERS A> Scott--

<SUMMERS S> Please don’t. I can’t--I need to focus on the stuff that needs to get done. I’ll have time to--everything else--later. I have to--I’m the only one who knows where everything is, and I don’t even--

I don’t understand why he didn’t tell me. Tell us.

<SUMMERS A> I don’t know. I--maybe he was scared. Or in denial, or he didn’t want to worry people--

<SUMMERS S> He wasn’t--I mean, he knew he was dying. Apparently. There was--a tape.

How could he have just--

Sorry. This is just--sorry.

<SUMMERS A> No, dude. It’s okay. I’m so sorry, Scott, seriously.

[silence]

What’s going to happen to the Institute?

<SUMMERS S> I don’t know.

We’re supposed to meet with someone next week. I can’t even think that far ahead right now.

<SUMMERS A> What are you going to do if--

<SUMMERS S> I don’t know, Alex. I really don’t know anything right now. I--I have to go.

<SUMMERS A> Okay. I love you. Please call if you need anything? Seriously. I’m so sorry, man.

<SUMMERS S> Thanks. You, too. Sorry.

  
**[end of recording]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hi, _X-Men_ #42.
> 
> Apropos of nothing, I just mapped out the posting schedule for the rest of the story and realized that Christmas lines up. NEAT!


	136. SUBJECT:

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
SUBJECT:

Dear Scott,

Dude, I am so sorry. I’m not going to pretend I know what you’re going through, but I know Professor Xavier was really important to you, and if you need anything--seriously, ANYTHING, even just to have a conversation about something that’s NOT that stuff--I’m here.

I cancelled the reservations for next week. I really don’t want to go without you. If you want to get away for a few days after the dust settles, let me know. Meanwhile, if you need anything, CALL. Seriously. I know you won’t, but do anyway. I can be there in two hours. Faster if I steal a car. (Kidding.) (Mostly.)

Love,  
Alex


	137. SUBJECT: how are you doing?

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** how are you doing?

How did the funeral go? Are you holding up okay? Let me know how I can help.


	138. Always Fine

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

<SUMMERS S> Hello?

<SUMMERS A> Hey. I just wanted to--how are you doing?

<SUMMERS S> I don’t know. I’m fine.

It’s been a really long day. Week. Sorry.

<SUMMERS A> It’s okay. You’re allowed.

<SUMMERS S> I am _really_ fucking not.

Sorry. I’m--I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just--it’s been a long week.

<SUMMERS A> Scott, you don’t have to--

<SUMMERS S> Don’t. Please just don’t. I mean, what do you want me to say, Alex?

<SUMMERS A> I don’t know. Anything. Let me help.

<SUMMERS S> You can’t.

<SUMMERS A> Then at least let me be there!

<SUMMERS S> I can’t.

I couldn’t even if I--they’re closing the Institute.

<SUMMERS A> Oh, fuck.

<SUMMERS S> Yeah.

<SUMMERS A> Are you okay? Sorry. That’s a stupid question. Do you need--I can still come down.

<SUMMERS S> No. Please don’t. I’ll--I’m fine. I just need to figure some things out.

<SUMMERS A> If you need somewhere to crash for a while--

<SUMMERS S> Alex, I can--look, I’m going to be fine, okay? I’m always fine.

<SUMMERS A> You don’t--you’re not alone. You know that, right?

<SUMMERS S> Jesus.

I appreciate the sentiment, but you really don’t know the first damn thing about what I am right now.

<SUMMERS A> _Because you never fucking tell me anything!_

[silence]

<SUMMERS S> [sigh]

Yeah. I guess there’s that.

<SUMMERS A> Scott...

<SUMMERS S> I’m sorry. I just--I’m really tired. I haven’t really slept in a couple days. And I have to go clean out the office of--

Oh, _god_. I don’t know if I can do this. I mean, I can. Somebody has to. But--

<SUMMERS A> I’m sorry.

<SUMMERS S> It’s not your fault.

<SUMMERS A> I know.

<SUMMERS S> I--I have to go. I’m sorry.

  
**[end of recording]**


	139. Don't Disappear

****

****

****

****

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

ALEX: i meant what i said earlier

ALEX: re if you need somewhere to crash

SCOTT: I know. Thanks.

SCOTT: I’ll be fine. I just need to get a couple things sorted out.

ALEX: where are you going to go

SCOTT: I have a couple options.

SCOTT: You really don’t need to worry. I promise.

ALEX: you are such a dumbass

SCOTT: ?

ALEX: dude ur my brother

ALEX: im going to worry

SCOTT: Sorry.

ALEX: look if you need anything PLEASE let me know okay

ALEX: and as soon as you know where youll be

ALEX: actually call me anyway. or email. or whatever

ALEX: dont disappear

SCOTT: I won’t.

ALEX: promise

SCOTT: I promise. I won’t disappear.

ALEX: im sorry

ALEX: i know this has to suck

ALEX: uve been there since u were like 16

SCOTT: 15

ALEX: fuck

SCOTT: I’ll be fine.

SCOTT: World’s greatest masked racer and international secret agent, remember?

ALEX: okay

ALEX: still

ALEX: call okay

SCOTT: Okay. Love you.

ALEX: love you


	140. SUBJECT: New Addresses

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** New Addresses

2618 E 35th Pl. #4 Westbridge, CT

My old e-mail should continue to work indefinitely, but just in case, I figured it was probably a good idea to have one that wasn’t attached to the Institute.


	141. The X-Cave

****

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****

****

****

 

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

ALEX: when do u move

SCOTT: Two days ago.

ALEX: u shouldve told me

ALEX: i wouldve helped

SCOTT: I don’t have much stuff.

ALEX: not really the point

ALEX: any luck with jobs

SCOTT: Starting tomorrow.

ALEX: !!

ALEX: that was quick

SCOTT: A contact of the Professor’s helped.

ALEX: flying? secret agent stuff?

SCOTT: Community radio.

ALEX: huh

SCOTT: They had an opening, and it means I can stay in the area.

SCOTT: I’ll still be doing some on-call stuff for the Institute. Foundation now, I guess.

ALEX: wheres westbridge

SCOTT: Just outside Bridgeport.

SCOTT: You could come visit if you wanted.

ALEX: !!!

ALEX: i actually get to visit the xcave??

SCOTT: ?

ALEX: racercave sounds dumb

ALEX: whens good

SCOTT: Give me a couple weeks to get things sorted out.

SCOTT: I don’t even have furniture yet.

SCOTT: Maybe the weekend of the 2nd?

ALEX: doable

ALEX: do you have a giant penny

SCOTT: You’re mixing metaphors.

ALEX: yeah but

ALEX: GIANT PENNY

SCOTT: I thought I’d start with a bed, but I’ll keep an eye out.


	142. Secret Agent Community Radio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _As ~~threatened~~ promised, I've finally started posting interstitial short stories. The first, [Against the World](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2770100), takes place between chapters 42 and 43 of Rex Racer on the Final Turn._
> 
> _I've got another (later than we are now) written, and a few more percolating, but if there are any gaps you'd particularly like to see filled, please shout out, and I'll see what I can do! -GJ_

Dear Scott,

How are you doing? JUST KIDDING--I know you’re going to say “fine” no matter what, which is why I’m enclosing Bear. I ALSO know you’re going to insist that he’s mine now, so think of this as an indefinite loan. You should have someone to talk to who you don’t feel like you have to protect or lie to, and knowing you, that’s probably not going to be a person.

How’s the new apartment? Have you gotten any actual furniture yet? FYI, folding chairs don’t count as furniture if you’re over 21.

I’m really looking forward to visiting next week (if that still works) and seeing your new place.

How’s the job going? You said it was community radio (I’m not sure I knew that was still even a thing that existed) but never mentioned what you were actually doing. Is it SECRET AGENT COMMUNITY RADIO? Do you broadcast in code from behind enemy lines?

Love,  
Alex


	143. Like a Ton of Bricks

Dear Alex,

Thank you for sending Bear. That was very thoughtful.

I know you won’t believe me, but I really am okay. Between shutting things down in Salem Center and then moving and starting the new job, I haven’t really had time to stop and think, which is probably for the best. I know at some point it’s probably going to hit me like a ton of bricks, but right now I’m grateful for the reprieve.

The new place is okay. Furniture is so far limited to a desk, a bed, and a folding chair (which I gather doesn’t count). Jean’s coming down this weekend, and she says she’s going to drag me to Ikea, since apparently no one has any faith in my ability to buy furniture. Either way, I’ll at least make sure I have a couch or an inflatable mattress or something by next week so you’ll have somewhere to crash.

The job is regular, normal community radio. It’s really different from anything I’ve done before, which I’m kind of enjoying. It was originally just going to be a catch-all--some administration, answering phones, maybe some fact checking, etc.--but they lost a reporter right before I started, and I ended up shadowing one of the senior reporters to a city council meeting, and I guess he liked me enough to ask the station manager if I can split time between news and administration until they can find a new full-time reporter. I won’t be doing much to start with, mostly research and maybe some really small local segments while I learn the ropes. It’s intimidating as hell--I’m not much of a people person, or a public-speaking person, and this is both--but it also seems like a good chance to do something that matters, even just on a local level. And it’s been surprisingly nice to get out of my comfort zone.

How’s the semester going? And the thesis project? Are you making more friends? Now that you’re a term in, is Old Landon everything you were hoping it would be?

I’m looking forward to seeing you, too.

Love,  
Scott


	144. At Least Two of Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Just posted another interstitial story! This one's a Scott story--["Lost in Space,"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2784284) which takes place roughly concurrent to this letter._

Dear Scott,

Are you seriously going to be on the radio? That’s awesome! Where can I hear you? I’m guessing if it’s a local station I won’t be able to pick it up from here (I say, like I even actually own a radio), but it has to stream somewhere online, right?

The semester is kicking my ass. I’m still going to try to make it out next week, but I’ll definitely be bringing a mountain of calc. I regret nothing, though--Landon is great, Dr. T is a fucking genius, and I’m having a blast (for a very specific definition of the word blast, but fortunately not the one the chemistry kids use).

AHAHAHAHA THESIS RESEARCH. FUCK. Remember the sensors that blew out on me earlier this summer? Apparently that’s a running theme. I’ve spent the last week on the phone with Dr. Banner’s assistant trying to figure out what’s going wrong--it’s not a reproducible problem, it’s not predictable or consistent, and it never seems to happen with anyone but me. I figured it had to be human error at first, so I set up a webcam to monitor, but, no, I’m doing everything right--Dr. T and a couple of her grad students reviewed the footage and agree. Maybe I’ll rock the field with my new and groundbreaking theory of “sensor arrays just fucking hate me.” It seems to be improving a little, though, so, fingers crossed. At least my literature review is almost done. GO SPEED RACER GO.

I’m not exactly going out of my way to make BFFs, since I have zero-minus free time, and I’m only here for a year anyway. I still drink with the summer research group--they all say hi, by the way--and there are some okay kids in my thesis seminar, but they’re all as busy as I am, so we mostly just bond over crying into our laptops and arguing over who has to go pick up Thai.

How are you and Jean doing? Good, I assume, if she’s helping you buy furniture. Is she still at Metro? Once you’re settled, have you thought about maybe going back to school, too? You could, if you wanted.

Love,  
Alex

P.S. Do you still want to do Thanksgiving? There’s a potluck thing here, but we could also do the family dinner thing. (Pretty sure it still counts as long as there are at least two of us.)


	145. What to Do with My Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more of Jean's visit (and some Jean PoV), click over to [Enough](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3171356).

Dear Alex,

Yes, Jean’s still at Metro, although I don’t know for how long. A lot of what she was studying was based around the idea that she’d come back to work at the Institute, and obviously that’s off the table now, so she’s thinking about taking a semester or two off to work and figure out what she wants to do long-term.

(We did go to Ikea last weekend, and I now own _multiple_ chairs that don’t fold. I hope you’re impressed. Also a futon couch, so you’ll have somewhere to sleep when you visit.)

Sorry the semester is turning into such a crunch, but I’m glad to hear you’re enjoying it. Are you still doing the gamma sensing and geomorphology thing for your thesis? I’m still curious about what that involves, if you can explain it in layman’s terms.

I haven’t really thought about going back to school. Maybe someday. I don’t know. The idea of having to sit down and figure out what to do with my life frankly scares the hell out of me. How did you settle on geophysics?

Sure. Let’s plan on Thanksgiving. What do you want to do?

Love,  
Scott

P.S. Bear says hi.


	146. A Pretty Okay Person

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the people who requested a direct prequel: ["Ghosts."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2796203)

Dear Scott,

It’s so weird, you asking me for advice on stuff like this. I mean, you’re my big brother. You’ve always had your shit so completely locked down (which I’m not saying you don’t or anything, just that I feel like a total badass right now).

I was pretty solid on wanting to do science by the time I started looking at colleges. It just always kind of fit, you know? Figuring out how things work, trying stuff out to see what’ll happen. There’s probably a lot of overlap between kids who put a lot of weird junk in their mouths and kids who grow up to be scientists. 

Physics is both as fundamental as you can get (I guess except for pure math, but mathematicians don’t get to blow things up) and fucking spectacular. And once I’d figured out I wanted to do physics, earth science just sort of clicked. My first geo prof at UH was great, and it was really fun, and it never stopped being fun even when it was crazy hard. And it turned out I was really fucking good at it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I work my ass off, but it was like finding the groove my brain fit into, you know? It just--works.

The other part, which feels super silly to actually write out, is that I really like who I am when I’m doing it. I’m not a very patient person, and I don’t really think things through a lot, and I want everything NOW more than I want it RIGHT, so you’d think I’d be a super shitty scientist. Except what I learned in the lab is that I actually _can_ break shit down into component parts and focus, because it feels like tapping into something way bigger than me, something that makes sense and kind of makes me make sense.

Once, after some particularly fucked up Todd bullshit, I was bitching to Haley about how I was never going to measure up to MagicalGhostBrother™. She basically laughed in my face and said that DUH I wasn’t going to be a better Todd than Todd, because I wasn’t Todd, and if I actually wanted to be good at something I should probably work on figuring out how to be the best Alex. Which I fully recognize is sappy as fuck, but I kind of feel like this is what that is. A couple years into college, my advisor said this thing about how finding your field isn’t just about finding the thing you’re passionate about, but something you feel okay about doing every day for a really long time. And I realized that I actually _liked_ Scientist Alex, and I like _being_ Scientist Alex. Like, this is a life I would be pretty happy living, and I think I could be a pretty okay person in it. I mean, I don’t know if it’s Best Alex, but it’s an Alex I feel pretty good about the idea of waking up as in forty years, you know?

(It’s also super practical. I mean, I want to go into research, but if it comes down to it, applied geophysics is a huuuuuuuuuge field.)

Which is to say: 100% trial and error, but it helps if you know what makes you happy, or what you miss when you aren’t doing it.

I hope this isn’t too personal, but I kind of get the impression that a lot of how you think of yourself is kind of wrapped up in the Xavier Institute? I mean, that was your life for a really long time. You basically grew up there. So maybe just take a while and try stuff and see what sticks?

Anyway, hope that helps. See you in a couple days! We can talk about this more then, if you want?

SO EXCITED TO SEE YOUR SECRET HEADQUARTERS!!!

Love,  
Alex


	147. Reacting to Something Else

Dear Alex,

It was great to see you, and to get to show you around and hear more about your research. Thanks again for coming out.

You’re right that the Institute was a lot of my life, and I’m not really sure what to do with myself without it. I think I really thought I’d just stay there forever.

I don’t think it’s just the Institute, though. Just about every choice I’ve made since the crash has been about reacting to something else: running away from or toward fires, depending on what I was equipped for. I’m very good at dealing with crises, planning for contingencies, and thinking on my feet; but that’s really _all_ I’m good at. I’m not good at figuring out what I want, and I’m even worse at realizing that I can act on it.

But what you wrote--figuring out what you wanted to do, and trying to find something you could do every day for a long time--is good advice, and food for thought. Thank you.

Love,  
Scott

P.S. I’m going to be in the city next weekend. I know you’re busy with school, but if you’ve got time, do you want to meet Jean and me for lunch or something on Saturday? I’ll have my bike, so I can give you a ride back if you don’t want to take the train.


	148. Elusive and Maybe Imaginary

****

****

****

****

****

 

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

ALEX: r u serious?????

SCOTT: Generally.

ALEX: wait

ALEX: did u just make a joke

SCOTT: What?

ALEX: never mind

ALEX: i meant are u serious abt jean

ALEX: introducing me to your elusive and maybe imaginary kindof girlfriend or personal furniture shopper or whatever ur calling her these days

SCOTT: Oh. Yes. I’m serious.

ALEX: whoa

ALEX: thats new

SCOTT: If you want to. No pressure.

ALEX: does this mean your engaged or something

ALEX: if you got engaged and you still dont know if shes officially your girlfriend thats kind of fucked up

SCOTT: Jesus.

SCOTT: No, we’re not engaged.

SCOTT: And ‘girlfriend’ is probably accurate at this point.

ALEX: why now

SCOTT: Because we’re dating exclusively and she keeps clothes at my place? I don’t know.

SCOTT: You’re the one who keeps making a big deal about what we are or aren’t calling it.

ALEX: no i meant

ALEX: why did u tell her about me

ALEX: what changed

SCOTT: Oh. That.

SCOTT: I don’t know. It’s complicated.

SCOTT: Is it okay?

SCOTT: That I told her about you?

ALEX: yeah

ALEX: its awesome

ALEX: i cant wait to meet her

ALEX: tell her embarrassing stories about you

SCOTT: You say that like I can’t reciprocate.

ALEX: u could but u wont

ALEX: thats the beauty of it


	149. SUBJECT: Thanksgiving

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Thanksgiving

Dear Scott,

So sometimes Haley sends me these awful forwards full of “inspirational” bullshit, because she is totally a closet soccer mom with a secret hard-on for Hallmark, and I usually delete them without reading them, because I’m not very secretly kind of a dick.

But there was one this week that I opened because she was sneaky and deleted the Fwd: in the subject line, and I’m sort of glad I did. I’m not going to forward it--some crimes are unforgivable--but it was about the idea of gratitude, and bad stuff and good stuff not canceling out, and a lot of things that reminded me of what we talked about back in August around the anniversary of the crash.

I don’t think I’m a very grateful person. Most of the shit that matters to me has been luck or things I’ve worked my ass off for, and a lot of it has turned out to have a ton of fine print attached. I mean, I can be grateful to people. I am. I’m just shitty at the whole grateful-to-the-universe-or-some-abstract-imaginary-friend thing.

But I’m really grateful right now. That I get to spend Thanksgiving with my family for the first time since I was seven. That I have a family. That you found me. And I know most of that was luck or other people’s hard work or whatever, but it still feels like kind of a huge gift.

So, yeah. Thanks. To you, and to whoever is or isn’t out there pulling the strings.

OKAY. ENOUGH SAPPY STUFF. ACTUAL THANKSGIVING PLANS!

OPTION 1: POTLUCK  
PROS: Easy. Other people will do most of the cooking. Definitely not traditional family dinner. Probably pretty chill.  
CONS: The people doing most of the cooking will be college students, so probably about half of them will just bring wine. (That might be a pro, actually.) Probably crowded. Probably at least one acoustic guitar.

OPTION 2: THE TRADITIONAL THING  
PROS: Traditional. It kind of feels like we ought to. Pie.  
CONS: Traditional. Huge pain in the ass. That weird sweet potato casserole with marshmallows. Might be super sad.

OPTION 3: WHATEVER THE HELL WE FEEL LIKE  
PROS: I’m pretty sure that as the last remaining Summerses, we have official license to declare whatever the fuck we want to be family traditions, so in theory Thanksgiving could be the day we solemnly gather in a blanket fort for a Speed Racer marathon with beer and pie, which, the more I think about it, sounds fucking awesome. I’m pretty sure beer + blanket fort + pie + Speed Racer is EXACTLY how the pilgrims did it.  
CONS: All other holidays will pale in comparison. Maybe you actually want to do traditional stuff (if so, that’s cool). No free shitty wine.

OPTION 4: I DON’T KNOW. SOMETHING ELSE.

Love,  
Alex

P.S. It was awesome to finally meet Jean. She is super rad, and if you ever break up with her, I might hate you forever, even if she is ONE MILLION PERCENT WRONG about Star Wars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not that it's a particularly important plot point, but my Jean-is-a-die-hard-Star-Wars-fan headcanon is entirely the product of [this story by Artaxastra](http://blueshades.net/xmen/lastofthejedi.html). Obviously a slightly different Jean in this context, but she's still got strong opinions about Jedi.


	150. SUBJECT: Re: Thanksgiving

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Thanksgiving

Dear Alex,

Option 4 would be Annandale-on-Hudson with Jean’s family.

PROS: Non-college-potluck food that we wouldn't have to cook. Jean assures me they’re all very nice. 

CONS: Someone else’s huge family Thanksgiving, and all the weirdness that entails.

Love,  
Scott

P.S. Jean says hi, and that it was great to meet you, too. She also said to ask you if it hurts to be so wrong about vector, whatever that means. I’m staying out of this one.

P.P.S. If I broke up with her, I think I’d probably hate myself forever, too.


	151. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Thanksgiving

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Thanksgiving

Dear Scott,

I’m voting for door #3. That said, Jean’s your girlfriend, and if you want to spend Thanksgiving with her (and her WRONG OPINIONS ABOUT JEDI), I totally get that. No pressure, I promise.

Have you seriously not read any expanded universe? I know what Night Moose is bringing you for Chriiiiiiiiiiiiiistmas!

Love,  
Alex


	152. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Thanksgiving

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Thanksgiving

Dear Alex,

Jean’s been inviting me to family holidays for years. I never go. I don’t really see why that should change now.

Option 3 sounds good. Westbridge, I’m assuming? I know I don’t have much of a kitchen, but it seems like the oven might be a key advantage if we’re making pie.

Jean lent me a few of the novels back when we were in school, and I remember them being pretty fun. I've always been more of a Trek guy, though.

Love,  
Scott


	153. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Thanksgiving

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Thanksgiving

YES. Oven for sure. I’m pretty sure making pie in a hot plate is classified as an actual war crime.

Pumpkin is a given, right? What else?

Why don’t you ever do holidays with Jean? It sounds like she really wants you to, and you’ve had a thing for her pretty much forever.

I should have known you’d be a Trekkie. NERD.


	154. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Thanksgiving

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Thanksgiving

Sweet potato seems redundant to pumpkin. Berries and stone fruit are out of season. Apple? What else do you put in pies? Does pizza count? We could make pizza.

It’s not so much that Jean wants to spend the holidays with me as that she doesn’t like the idea of me spending the holidays alone. She’s the kind of person who compulsively collects strays, or tries to, and that’s never been what I wanted to be to her.

I’m not a Trekkie, but I like that it’s about exploration, and it always reminds me of back when we used to watch the original series on Mom’s beat-up old VHS tapes.


	155. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Thanksgiving

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Thanksgiving

Dude, she’s dating you. However it started, I’m pretty sure that at this point she wants you there because she wants you there.

Apple is boring on its own. Apple cranberry? And hell yes to pizza.

I’d completely forgotten about Mom being into Star Trek. I think I’d sort of revised it in my head as Dad’s thing, because it fits what I remember about him better. It was totally hers, though, wasn’t it?


	156. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Thanksgiving

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Thanksgiving

Jean also knows me well enough to know that I’d be completely miserable there, which is why she doesn’t push. At this point, I think it’s enough for her to know that I know it’s an option.

Apple cranberry sounds good.

Mom loved Star Trek. She had every original series episode taped, and a bunch of old fanzines and stuff. I think Dad liked it, too, but it was way more her thing.


	157. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Thanksgiving

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Thanksgiving

That’s so cool. Go, Mom.

(Cool for Mom, I mean. It’s still nerdy for you. ZING!)


	158. Any Kind of Cosmic Design

Dear Alex,

Thanks, again, for coming out for Thanksgiving. That was a lot of fun, even if the pie was a disaster. I think I could get to like holidays, if we keep doing them like this.

I just realized I never replied to your e-mail a while back about gratitude. 

You wrote:

_“I don’t think I’m a very grateful person. Most of the shit that matters to me has been luck or things I’ve worked my ass off for, and a lot of it has turned out to have a ton of fine print attached. I mean, I can be grateful to people. I am. I’m just shitty at the whole grateful-to-the-universe-or-some-abstract-imaginary-friend thing._

_“But I’m really grateful right now. That I get to spend Thanksgiving with my family for the first time since I was seven. That I have a family. That you found me. And I know most of that was luck or other people’s hard work or whatever, but it still feels like kind of a huge gift._

_“So, yeah. Thanks. To you, and to whoever is or isn’t out there pulling the strings.”_

I identify with a lot of that. 

There’s a lot I’m grateful for. I’m grateful to you, for coming here, and being amazing, and wanting me in your life. I’m grateful to Haley for looking out for you when I couldn’t. I’m grateful to Professor Xavier for more than I can even start to list, and it kills me that I’m never going to have the chance to repay or even adequately thank him. I’m grateful to Mom and Dad for making sure we had a chance even when--you know.

I don’t know if I believe in god or any kind of cosmic design. I don’t think so. I try to, sometimes, but it always seems like if you give god credit for the good stuff, that makes the bad stuff his responsibility, too; and given that, a chaotic universe is a lot more comforting than an omnipotent god who either does those things or sits by and lets them happen. I get why people cling to the idea of god--it probably makes the bad stuff easier to live with if you can rationalize it as serving a greater purpose, or at least being someone else’s fault rather than fallout from a random universe--but I can’t quite believe that it does.

But, yeah. I’m grateful for you. For finding you; although that’s more to the Professor than to anything else. This was the first time in a long time that Thanksgiving really felt like it made sense.

Love,  
Scott


	159. RIGHT NOW

****

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

ALEX: GO OUTSIDE RIGHT NOW

SCOTT: I’m covering a zoning board meeting.

ALEX: DO IT ANYWAY

SCOTT: Why?

ALEX: SNOW SNOW SNOW SNOW SNOW SNOW SNOW SNOW SNOW

ALEX: SNOW > ZONING

SCOTT: I’m turning my phone off.


	160. Known Me for Years

****

****

****

 

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

ALEX: its not sticking

ALEX: this is bullshit

ALEX: i demand proper snow

SCOTT: I’ll get right on that?

ALEX: damn skippy

ALEX: white xmaaaaaaaaaaas

SCOTT: When does your winter break start?

ALEX: 20th

SCOTT: Are you planning to be here for Christmas?

ALEX: should i

SCOTT: If you want to.

ALEX: do u want me to

SCOTT: Sure.

ALEX: jean should come to christmas

SCOTT: She’ll be with her family.

ALEX: tell her were more fun

SCOTT: That’s not going to work. She’s known me for years.

ALEX: well yeah

ALEX: but im delightful

SCOTT: I’ll pass that along.

ALEX: good


	161. What Difference It Makes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey, it's the magical two-day period when story dates and posting dates accidentally lined up!

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

<SUMMERS A> [singing] Dashing through the snooooooooooow!

<SUMMERS S> Hey. Look, I’m really sorry, but I--there’s an emergency. I have to go out of state for--probably a couple days.

<SUMMERS A> _A couple days._

<SUMMERS S> I know. The timing couldn’t be worse. But--we could celebrate when I get back? If that’s okay? I’m sorry.

<SUMMERS A> What the _fuck_ , dude. It’s _Christmas Eve_. I'm supposed to catch the train in like two hours.

<SUMMERS S> I know. But it’s--look, I really can’t explain, but I wouldn’t even consider it if it weren’t important.

<SUMMERS A> I--I know. Just--damn, Scott. I thought this was--I mean, the Institute closed. Why do you still have to do this shit?

<SUMMERS S> If the Institute were open, I wouldn’t have to. But it’s not, and that means--some things really can’t--We can still do Christmas when I get back. Just--late. A little. I don’t really see what difference it makes. I mean--

<SUMMERS A> You don’t really--okay. Sure. Yeah. We can do it whenever. Maybe fold it into New Year’s. Unless you’ll be away then, too.

<SUMMERS S> You’re mad.

<SUMMERS A> I’m not--fuck. No. _Yes_ , I’m mad. It’s fucking _Christmas_.

<SUMMERS S> I’m sorry. I don’t--I guess I don’t really get why the specific day matters. It’s not like--I mean, it’s not like it’s really--

<SUMMERS A> _Oh, for fuck’s sake._

<SUMMERS S> I’m sorry.

<SUMMERS A> [sigh]

No, it’s cool.

I mean, no, it’s not cool, but it’s not a big deal. We can do it a few days late.

When will you be back?

<SUMMERS S> The 26th or 27th. I think.

<SUMMERS A> Okay. I can, um. I can take the train out on the 26th, maybe? Can you leave me a key, if you’re not sure when you’ll be back?

<SUMMERS S> I don’t know if that’s--no. Yes. I can--I can do that. I’m really sorry.

<SUMMERS A> I know.

<SUMMERS S> I, um. I should go.

<SUMMERS A> Right.

[sigh]

Stay safe, okay?

<SUMMERS S> You, too.

**[end of recording]**

 


	162. To You, Too

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

<SUMMERS A> Hey.

<SUMMERS S> Merry Christmas.

<SUMMERS A> I thought you were--

<SUMMERS S> Yeah. I mean, I am, but I wanted--I know it’s important to you. I wanted to at least call.

<SUMMERS A> Oh. Thanks. Yeah. Merry Christmas to you, too.

<SUMMERS S> I’m really sorry. About not being there.

<SUMMERS A> I know. Thanks for calling, though.

<SUMMERS S> I’ll, um. It looks like I should still be able to be back, um, late tomorrow. Or early on the 27th. I think.

<SUMMERS A> Okay. I’ll see you then.

<SUMMERS S> Merry Christmas.

<SUMMERS A> Yeah. You, too.

  
**[end recording]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most anticlimactic Christmas ever.
> 
> There is actually a Christmas side-story, but it takes place a little later (for obvious reasons), and it spoils a gag in Chapter 164, so it won't be going up for a few days.


	163. Cool About This

****

****

 

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

SCOTT: Did you get in okay?

ALEX: yeah

SCOTT: Did you have any trouble getting the key from the studio?

ALEX: nah

ALEX: they say merry xmas btw

SCOTT: I’ll be back tonight. Late, though. Don’t wait up.

ALEX: might anyway

ALEX: xmas eve and all that

SCOTT: That was two days ago.

ALEX: i wont tell if you wont

SCOTT: Ha.

SCOTT: Thank you again for being so cool about this.

ALEX: dont thank me yet

ALEX: you havent seen what ive done to yr apt

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For what Alex did to Scott's apartment, click over to ["A Very Night Moose Christmas"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2886344). (Or on to Chapter 164, I guess. You do you.)
> 
> All Hail Night Moose,  
> GJ


	164. SUBJECT: Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While you were out celebrating, Night Moose checked his list, determined that you have all been very nice indeed, and left [a fluffy Christmas story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2886344) under the tree.
> 
> ["A Very Night Moose Christmas"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2886344) takes place before this chapter, but--fair warning--whichever one you read first is going to have some minor spoilers for the other.
> 
> Happy Season,  
> GJ

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@othermail.com)  
**TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
**SUBJECT:** Christmas

Dear Alex,

Thank you for understanding about Christmas.

I’m really sorry, again. I swear if there’d been any other option, I’d have been there.

It was nice, though, getting to celebrate with you. Even late. And thank you so much for the books. Not to mention _filling my apartment with bloody moose tracks and scraps of Santa suit_ , Jesus Christ. (How long had you been planning that? I still can’t believe you pulled it off in less than a day. That was _horrifying_. And brilliant. And hilarious, even if I’m still not sure if it was a present or revenge. Either way, you’re the best.)

You mentioned when you were here that you’ve got plans for New Year’s, but if you’ll have time in January or February, maybe we could try snowboarding? And I’d still love to take you flying, if you ever want to.

All Hail Night Moose,  
Scott


	165. SUBJECT: Re: Christmas

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Christmas

Dear Scott,

I’m pretty much going to be in class, in the lab, at work, or neck deep in my final prospectus and grad school applications. Sorry.

Love,  
Alex

P.S. Happy New Year.

P.P.S. NIGHT MOOSE KNOWS IF YOU’VE BEEN NAUGHTY OR NICE


	166. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Christmas

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Christmas

Dear Alex,

Is this still about Christmas? I’m really sorry. Is there anything I can do to fix this?

Happy New Year to you, too. Did you do anything fun?

Love,  
Scott


	167. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Christmas

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Christmas

Dear Scott,

For fuck’s sake, dude. No, it’s not about Christmas. I mean, it’s kind of about Christmas, and a bunch of other shit, because making any kind of plans with you is pretty much a coin toss and I have next to no free time, so it’s not like I can just write it off and reschedule. I know it’s your job, and it’s national security or the fate of the world or Inspector Detector or rescuing kittens from space invaders or something, but the fact that it’s important (I guess, it’s not like I actually know what you do, aside from the radio stuff) doesn’t really make it suck less. I missed you for twelve years, and even if it’s petty and juvenile and all that shit, it pisses me off that now I have to share you with Inspector Detector or whatever.

Sorry. I know I’m being an asshole about this. I just kind of really fucking hate your job right now.

Love,  
Alex

P.S. I went to the NatSci New Year’s party, which turned out to be awesome. Chemists are _fucking insane_. Did you do anything?


	168. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Christmas

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Christmas

Dear Alex,

I’m glad you had a good New Year’s. I ended up going out with a few friends from the Institute. It was nice, although I’m still not really a fan of the Village.

Sometimes--a lot, honestly--I hate my job, too. But it is what it is, and it’s what I have to work with. This stuff--the job, the emergencies--isn’t something I can walk away from, not now, and probably not ever. And the consequences of not doing it are so, so much worse. There are things that matter a lot more than what I want.

I’m sorry. I know that sucks. I know it’s not fair to you, and I wish I could be there for you the way I should. You’re my brother, and you’re the most important thing in the world to me, and when push comes to shove, I will always, always have your back. I swear. But I’m not always going to be able to make appointments on time.

Love,  
Scott


	169. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Christmas

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Christmas

Dear Scott,

I know the job situation isn’t really under your control. Like I said, I don’t know the details, but I believe you when you say it’s important (and anyway I’d like to think you wouldn’t ditch me if it wasn’t). Just don’t expect me to like it.

Meanwhile: GUESS WHO HAS TWO THUMBS, AN APPROVED PROSPECTUS, AND ALL HIS GRAD SCHOOL APPLICATIONS IN? HINT: ALEX ROCKETSHIP SUMMERS. Also, no equipment blowouts in almost three months. Fingers crossed.

Love,  
Alex


	170. Be There for You

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

<SUMMERS A> Hey. Are you okay?

<SUMMERS S> What? Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be? Are you okay?

<SUMMERS A> I’m fine. You just don’t usually call unless something's wrong.

<SUMMERS S> Oh. Huh. Sorry. I guess--yeah. Sorry. I’m not, um. I’m not much of a phone person.

Anyway. No. Nothing’s wrong. I have, um. News. Good news. I think?

<SUMMERS A> What’s up?

<SUMMERS S> I, um--I mentioned that I met up with Jean and some other people from the Xavier Institute over New Year’s, right?

<SUMMERS A> Yeah.

<SUMMERS S> And, um, we’re still kind of working out details, but--we’re reopening the Institute.

<SUMMERS A> Dude! That’s great! When?

<SUMMERS S> We don’t have an exact date yet, but soon. It’s not--I mean, it won’t be a school, at least for now. Just crisis response, and maybe some consulting and stuff. But it’ll, um, I wanted to let you know.

<SUMMERS A> What about the radio thing?

<SUMMERS S> I’m not really qualified for it anyway. I mean, we all knew it was basically a stopgap on both sides.

<SUMMERS A> I guess. You sounded good, though. And it seemed like you really liked it.

<SUMMERS S> Thanks. It’s just not really--I mean, I do like it. It’s been great, but it isn’t--

This is where I need to be.

<SUMMERS A> I’m gonna miss visiting you.

<SUMMERS S> Yeah. Me, too. I’ll try to get out there more. That should be easier, at least. Once I’m back in Salem Center.

<SUMMERS A> That’d be cool. I mean, I’m like, stupid busy, but if you don’t mind working around that, or hanging out in the lab--

<SUMMERS S> No, that would be fine. I can--I’m just worried things are weird. Because of Christmas. And everything. And now this. And it’s not--I mean, I’m not going to--I’m really sorry.

<SUMMERS A> Maybe a little weird? But it’s cool. We’re good. I mean, I think we’re good. We’re good, right?

<SUMMERS S> I don’t--I mean--you’re really important to me, Alex. You know that, right? We’re--look, my job is what it is, but you’re my brother. Nothing’s--nothing changes that, okay?

<SUMMERS A> I know. It’s cool. I mean, the job thing sucks. But yeah. Brothers. No matter what.

<SUMMERS S> Thanks.

I’m just--I don’t want to mess this up. Or lose you. Again.

<SUMMERS A> What the fuck? No. Scott. That’s not gonna happen.

<SUMMERS S> I’m sorry. I’m--I wish I knew how to--

I know I’m really bad at this whole--family thing. I’m sorry.

<SUMMERS A> You’re not. Dude. What’s going on?

<SUMMERS S> I just--I wanted to be there for you. Want to. I feel like I’m still making up for the last twelve years, and I’m doing a lousy job.

<SUMMERS A> Oh, god. Scott. No. No, no, no. You don’t--there’s nothing to make up for. And you’re doing fine.

I mean, yeah, the job thing sucks. But so does my school schedule, right now. You’re allowed--I mean, you’re a person. With your own life and stuff. That’s okay. That’s good.

<SUMMERS S> I guess. I just wish--

<SUMMERS A> I know. But it really is okay. I promise.

<SUMMERS S> Okay.

Thanks. I--thank you.

<SUMMERS A> You’re welcome.

And congrats again about the Xavier Institute. That’s great. I know it’s really important to you.

<SUMMERS S> Yeah.

<SUMMERS A> Now that it’s not a school, is there any chance I could--

<SUMMERS S> No. Sorry. It’s really not--no. I'm sorry.

<SUMMERS A> Worth a try.

<SUMMERS S> I’m really sorry.

<SUMMERS A> It’s cool. Anyway, I have to--I’m supposed to be at the lab in a few minutes. But maybe I can come up next weekend? While I still can? I could help you pack.

<SUMMERS S> I’m not planning to bring all that much, but--

Yeah. Sure. Next weekend. We can, um--we could go snowboarding? There’s a place. Not too far.

<SUMMERS A> Sure. Next weekend.

Love you.

<SUMMERS S> You, too.

And Alex--thanks.

 

**[end of recording]**

 

 


	171. Fair Play

Dear Alex,

Thanks again for coming out last weekend. It was really good to see you; I’ll miss you being able to visit now that I’m back at the Institute.

Your birthday is March 10, right? We should do something, unless you already have plans. Let me know. Turnabout is fair play, and all that. Plus, you’re turning 21 (although I’m not sure if that still counts as a big deal when you’ve got a decent fake ID).

Love,  
Scott


	172. Whatever You're Involved In

Dear Scott,

It was great to see you, too. And yeah, I’m going to miss visiting. I know you can still come out here, but it was cool getting to see a little more of your life.

YES. March 10. It’s in the dead middle of midterms, but could we go somewhere over spring break? Atlantic City? Are there roller coasters in Atlantic City? I kiiiiiiinda want to eat shrooms and then go on a bunch of roller coasters.

How’s the New Improved Xavier Institute going, aside from TOP SECRET? You mentioned crisis response when we talked. What kind of crises? Can you tell me that, at least?

Can I tell you something kind of dumb? I always wonder when I hear about crazy stuff happening, whether it’s you. Or part of whatever you’re involved in. I know I’d joked about New York being all superheroes and stuff, but I didn’t really think about how much of that there really is, and how different it is being this close. I don’t even really pay attention to the news, and it’s still everywhere. I mean, there was some kind of mass mind-control thing in the city last week (assuming you believe it was that and not actually some kind of mass hysteria), and a couple kids from my seminar section got caught up in it; and it’s a big deal, but it also kind of isn’t. It’s just one of those things that happens sometimes here, like car crashes or floods or whatever. 

It blows my mind that people talk about that stuff like it’s any kind of normal. I mean, how do people in the city even function? Go to work every day? It’s insane. The other day Dr. T. was talking about radiation monitoring, and precautions for sample contamination, and determining whether a spike is naturally occurring or basically something like the Hulk, which is honestly not a consideration that EVER occurred to me, and it seems nuts that it needs to. Apparently the Baxter Building and Avengers both have dedicated hotlines for scientists checking to see if some crazy extradimensional shit or supervillain fight or whatever has mucked up their data.

Remember last summer, when we were talking about radium parties, and you asked how anyone could have been surprised when mutants started showing up? This sort of feels like cosmic payback. Like, oh, shit, the last generation of science was way too cavalier with all that shit, so now we’re all doubly fucked. There was apparently some chick who controlled magnetic fields involved in the whole mind control thing, and I kept thinking things like, fuck, what if she’d wandered past my test site, and then, wait, what if _she_ were a physicist, or had been, or wanted to be. How much would that suck for her? I mean, if someone with those kind of powers who couldn’t control them were trying to--I don’t know. I always thought superpowers would be cool, but it probably actually sucks for a lot of people. I mean, even without all the fucked up legislation and public debate and even if you looked the same, you’d have so many doors just closed off, right? Or, like, with the mind control thing, what if they were doing it by accident, and they just thought everyone always agreed with them, or something? How could you, say, trust an ethical review board? It’s so fucked up and scary.

Do you ever wonder about that? What it would be like? To just, like, wake up one day and be able to, I don’t know, control electromagnetic fields, or people’s thoughts? And there’s never any system to it, is there? Like, I mean, if it were me, I’d want to sit down and figure out exactly what was going on and what I could do and how and why and what and all the questions I know to ask because of what I do, but, I mean, I’m a scientist. Almost-scientist. What if it’s just someone who’s mad, or scared, or just really, really fucking wants to go home and go to bed?

Ughhhhhhh. It’s almost enough to make me miss Hawaii. Not that shit doesn’t happen there, but it never seemed this big, or this constant. You know?

Love,  
Alex

P.S. Remember when we were little and we’d play superheroes? You always wanted to be able to fly, and I figured I’d be super fast and strong. (I think I pretty much just wanted all the superpowers, actually.) What would you pick now?


	173. Very Visible Superhumans

Dear Alex,

There are a couple roller coasters on the pier, I think. As for the rest, that sounds like an _incredibly_ bad idea, but I’ll trust that you know what you’re doing, with the understanding that I’m going to be sober and probably overly cautious on your behalf. Deal?

The Institute is going slowly. Right now, I’m mostly doing a lot of paperwork and trying (and mostly failing) to understand a lot of dense legal mumbo-jumbo about trusts and operating parameters. Not exactly the fast-paced, exciting life you’re apparently imagining.

As far as the city, those are difficult questions, and I don’t really have good answers to most of them. New York is a major population center, and it’s the home base of a lot very visible metahumans and superheroes. To some extent, I think it becomes a self-propagating thing, as individuals and groups accumulate in response to one another.

I’d never really thought about the impact that stuff would have on scientists’ work. There’s also the question of what counts as a natural phenomenon at this point, like the difference between naturally occurring mutants and artificially mutated humans, and when and whether that matters. Is there a geological equivalent to that issue? I guess there’d have to be. There are elements on the periodic table that are exclusively man-made, right? Where do you draw the line between natural and artificial with things like that; or, say, the crazy interdimensional stuff someone like Reed Richards does? Does stuff like that overlap with your research (or the sensor issues you were having earlier this year)?

That said, I don't entirely get the point of that debate in the first place. I guess it matters where this stuff comes from, but once it’s there, it seems to me that you have to deal with it regardless. I’m not talking about things like registration and regulation--I think that’s pretty universally bad from either a human rights or civil liberties angle--just basic harm reduction. Wherever mutants and other metahumans are coming from, there are a lot more now than there were twenty years ago, and sometimes it seems like no one is really equipped to respond usefully. I mean, I know response is a band-aid solution, but when someone is already bleeding, sometimes a band-aid is what’s called for. And you can’t expect people to toe a line or trust you when on one hand you’re saying “we want to help,” but then at the same time you're calling them anomalies and talking about registration and containment and military response. It’s so screwed up.

Love,  
Scott

P.S. If I got to pick a superpower, I’d still go with flight. What about you?


	174. Relevant Variables

Dear Scott,

I really, really hope that’s not what was blowing out my sensors. They’ve been pretty stable since late October, and I’m crossing my fingers that’ll hold for at least another month. Anyway, Dr. T and Dr. Banner both say the field arrays we’re using are designed specifically to bypass pretty much any external interference, although obviously that doesn’t account for interference we don’t know to compensate for. (Fun fact: like 90% of major discoveries start with the question, “what’s fucking up my data?”)

I’ve never really thought about the whole registration thing. It kind of makes sense to me, though--I mean, we make people register guns, and I remember hearing that if you get above a certain skill level with martial arts you have to get a concealed weapon permit. Why should it be that different for someone who can shoot lasers out of their eyes or kill people with their mind or whatever? I mean, those are potentially super deadly powers, and it seems like in situations where there are more likely to be dangerous emergencies, it’d make whoever better equipped to respond if they knew what they were dealing with, right? As a scientist, it’s also a matter of understanding relevant variables--you can’t account for what you don’t know about.

If it’s okay, I was sort of counting on you being the sober one in Atlantic City anyway, even if I didn’t kind of feel like you on hallucinogens would be the worst idea ever. (Also, we totally don’t have to do that. I just want to do SOMETHING ridiculous, and giving my fake ID a Viking funeral seems anticlimactic. Although we should do that, too, because it’d be awesome. Just not on its own.)

If I could have any superpower right now, I think I’d go with super-speed. Or maybe time manipulation in general. And super smarts. And maybe extra hands. Or just, like, six of me, with all those powers. CAN YOU TELL IT’S ALMOST MIDTERMS?

Love,  
Alex


	175. Your Hypothetical Kid With Laser Vision

Dear Alex,

No, I’m absolutely not doing hallucinogens. I agree. Terrible idea. And yes, I think that’ll be fine. Viking funeral and all. Just be careful. And let me know _exactly_ what I’ll be dealing with, please.

Registration isn't like regulating classes of guns, or even skills you have to learn. No matter how you frame it, in the end, you’re talking about regulating  _people_. Who gets to decide who gets to be treated as a person first, a weapon second? You can say it’s relative to destructive potential, but where does that put a newly-manifested mutant, or someone caught in an accident? If we consider intentions when people commit crimes, it seems insane to put people on a list, brand them as dangerous because they have some abstract potential for destruction. I mean,  _anything_ can be weaponized if you look at it right.

That's the other thing:  it’s a really short step from a list of names and powers to deciding who might be too dangerous to be allowed to use their abilities. Or too dangerous to be free. Or too dangerous to exist at all. Who gets to draw that line? What goes into deciding where it lands? I mean, the government can’t even prioritize money to teach normal kids not to kill each other. Do you really think they’d take the high road for kids with superpowers when it’d be so much simpler and more economical to blind your hypothetical kid with laser vision or lobotomize your telepath?

But for the sake of argument, let’s say it stops at registration. What happens when mutants or other people with powers are forced to disclose that status? Is that info that'll be available to potential employers? In background checks? Can I make a public records request and find out if my neighbor is a mutant? When you single out a population as innately dangerous, you're giving people tacit permission to treat them that way--and with very few exceptions, the rest of the world is already a hell of a lot more dangerous to metahumans than metahumans are to the rest of the world. For every guy who wants to mind-control New York, there's probably half a dozen kids trying to hide their powers for fear of getting kicked out of their homes, or worse (and those are just the ones with the option of hiding). 

I mean, look at you. You hear about a girl who can control magnetism, and you go straight to the ways she could destroy your work. What if she can see magnetic fields the way you can see light? What if she could discover or do things you can't even imagine, but she won't get the chance because some asshole in Washington decides all she ever gets to count as is a weapon.

What makes people dangerous isn't powers. It's desperation. It's lack of alternatives. It's everything that defines registration.

Love,  
Scott


	176. A Personal Stake

Dear Scott,

Not trying to pry or anything, but do you have a personal stake in the registration thing?

Love,  
Alex


	177. Superpowered or Otherwise

Dear Alex,

Everyone with a conscience should have a personal stake in registration.

I grew up in the system, remember? I know exactly how far that kind of compassion goes, and I’d never trust anyone’s life or safety to it--superpowered or otherwise.

Love,  
Scott


	178. SUBJECT: Your Mission, Should You Choose to Accept It

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Your Mission, Should You Choose to Accept It

Dear Speed Racer,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Be prepared for extraction on March 12 at 0900 hours.

Pack a light bag containing the following:

  * Valid government-issued identification
  * Three days’ worth of clothing appropriate for early March on the New Jersey coast, including but not limited to
  * A swimsuit
  * A jacket, shirt, tie, and pants.
  * A motorcycle helmet and jacket
  * Supermagnet cufflinks, since I seem to have misplaced mine
  * A comparable period’s worth of overnight gear (toiletries, etc.)
  * Any documents you wish to dispose of via traditional Viking rites
  * Any controlled substances not available legally in the state of New Jersey, packed securely enough to avoid detection via reasonably predictable means; and detailed information for your field partner on same (to be provided in advance)
  * That ridiculous kerchief thing, since Speed never seems to go anywhere without it.



Love,  
Racer X


	179. Like to Wake Up

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

 

<SUMMERS A> Hey.

<SUMMERS S> Happy birthday!

<SUMMERS A> [sigh]

Thanks.

I was about to call you, actually. About next week.

<SUMMERS S> Are you okay? Is something wrong?

<SUMMERS A> My fucking array. Everything--I was out on site this morning, and it went haywire. I can’t--there’s no way I can go out of town. I need to figure this out. I have no time; my defense is in two months, I’m going to fucking--I have so much data to crunch, and this fucks everything, and Dr. T’s not answering her phone, and-- _fuck_.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. Maybe go get really, really drunk. Legally. Hooray.

<SUMMERS S> Oh, no. I’m so sorry. Do you have any idea what happened?

<SUMMERS A> I don’t even--god, I need to find Dr. T. I even tried Dr. Banner, and _he’s_ not picking up, either, and _god fucking damnit_.

<SUMMERS S> Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to come up?

<SUMMERS A> No. I don’t know. I would really fucking like to wake up, if that’s an option. _Fuck_.

[indecipherable]

<SUMMERS S> Hold on a sec. What?

[indecipherable]

<SUMMERS S> Ah, hell. I have to go, but--look, let me know when--if you hear anything, okay? If there’s anything I can do? I’m probably going to have my phone off the next few hours, but--

Look, at the very least, we’ll figure out a way to celebrate. No matter what. Okay?

<SUMMERS A> Sure.

 

**[end of recording]**

 

 


	180. Benefit of the Doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For what actually happened and the following few days from Jean's PoV, see ["Mask Protocols"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3256592).

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

<GREY J> Hello?

<SUMMERS A> Hello? Um. Is this--Scott’s phone?

<GREY J> Oh, sorry, yeah. Hi, Alex. This is Jean. Um, happy belated birthday.

<SUMMERS A> Thanks. And thanks for the card. And the books.

<GREY J> Scott told me what happened with your research. I'm so sorry. Were you at least able to have an okay birthday?

<SUMMERS A> I think this one's a write-off. I mean, I’m still trying to get in touch with my advisor. Or the guy who designed the sensors I’m using. No one’s picking up, which is insane, it’s midterms week, but--god. I don’t even know what to do at this point.

At least I can legally drown my sorrows. For what that’s worth.

<GREY J> Oh. I’m sorry.

<SUMMERS A> Is Scott around?

<GREY J> He’s resting. We--it’s been a rough couple days here, too.

<SUMMERS A> Is he okay? Are _you_ okay? You sound really wiped out.

<GREY J> [sigh]

I haven’t really slept. We--

Oh, god, he’s going to _kill_ me for this, but whatever. I am so not in the mood.

Okay, before I say anything, don't freak out. Scott's fine. Well, will be fine.

<SUMMERS A> He’s-- _what the hell happened_?

<GREY J> He, um. Was in--an accident. Yesterday. Um, on his bike.

<SUMMERS A> Oh, _fuck_. Is he okay? What happened? Why didn’t you call?

<GREY J> I’m sorry. I was--I didn’t really get a chance. There was a lot going on.

<SUMMERS A> Is he okay?

<GREY J> He’ll be fine. The road was wet, and someone skidded into his lane, and he had to swerve to avoid a collision and wiped out against the guardrail. It’s not--really, he was really lucky. Dislocated shoulder, some broken ribs. He’s probably got a concussion, but if so, it’s pretty mild.

<SUMMERS A> He _probably_ has--he should be--are you at the hospital? _They didn’t let him go home, did they?_

<GREY J> They kept him overnight. We got home about an hour ago.

<SUMMERS A> _Why the fuck did they let him go home?_ Why did you _let_ them? _Are you fucking insane?_

<GREY J> No. Alex. It’s okay--

<SUMMERS A> _Jean, he has fucking brain damage._ You know he fell out of a _plane_ , right? He’s--I’ve read--there’s not really any such thing as _minor_ , not with that kind of--

<GREY J> Alex, _calm down_.

I know you’re worried, but I’m not an idiot, and _yes_ , I know about the plane and--all of that, okay? The scans were all clean, and they kept him overnight for observation, and we know what to look out for. We’re not taking any chances. If I thought for a moment he was in any real danger, we’d still be there.

<SUMMERS A> Sorry. I just--he’s my _brother_. And--

<GREY J> I know. It’s okay. And I _promise_ you, he’s going to be okay.

<SUMMERS A> Can I come down?

<GREY J> Not to the Institute. I’m sorry. You can--if you guys still want to figure out something for next week, I think he'll be okay to do that. But no, you can’t come down. And even if you could, you know he’d never be okay with you ditching midterms.

He’s already going to be so pissed that I told you.

<SUMMERS A> Ha, yeah. He totally is. Thanks, though. He’s the fucking worst about that stuff.

<GREY J> I know. Trust me, _I know_.

[sigh]

<SUMMERS A> I wish I’d--fuck. The hospital, that had to have been--

<GREY J> It was rough.

I’ve never seen him that--I don’t know. _Scared_. He’s normally so together.

<SUMMERS A> Oh, god. I can’t even imagine. He’s, um. Had some really bad experiences. With hospitals.

<GREY J> Yeah. I mean, I don’t know a lot about his life before here, but I know enough that I wouldn’t have left him alone even if he hadn’t been--

That’s part of why I didn’t call, honestly. He was--he gets so weird about people, if he’s not okay. And it was complicated enough--

I’m sorry. I’m not saying you--I know you wouldn’t have--but--I mean, you know. Or at least I assume you know.

<SUMMERS A> No, yeah. I know.

He’s always been like that. For what it’s worth.

<GREY J> [laughter] That’s… sort of reassuring. I worry sometimes, I mean, I know he’s been through a lot. The crash, and everything else, and I never know what’s--

<SUMMERS A> Everything else? What do you know about the rest?

<GREY J> Not a lot. I mean, he’s basically been at the Institute since he was fifteen, and he doesn’t really talk about his life before. I know he was in an orphanage for a few years after the crash, and on the street for a while after that, but that’s about it.

<SUMMERS A> Oh.

<GREY J> Why? Is there something I should know?

<SUMMERS A> No. I just thought maybe--never mind.

He doesn’t really tell me anything, either.

<GREY J> [sigh]

Yeah. That’s our boy.

<SUMMERS A> You, um. You really care about him, huh?

<GREY J> Of course.

<SUMMERS A> Are you in love with him?

<GREY J> Am I-- _wow_. That’s a hell of a question on no sleep, Alex.

<SUMMERS A> He’s my brother, and he could have been fucking _killed_ , and you won’t let me come down. I know you’re tight with your family and all, but you can’t--he’s my only--I mean, he’s literally all I’ve got. That’s a fucking lot to trust you with.

So. Are you in love with him?

<GREY J> Okay. Yeah. Fair enough.

I’m--wow. Okay. Yes. I am _stupidly, ridiculously_ in love with your brother. And if you tell him I told you that, I will drive to Landon and _murder_ you. And then he’ll dump me. So don’t do that.

<SUMMERS A> Jesus, you two.

<GREY J> I know. But please, okay?

<SUMMERS A> Does he know?

<GREY J> He’d damn well better, after yesterday.

<SUMMERS A> [laughter]

Okay. Thanks.

Um. I’m sorry I yelled. Earlier.

<GREY J> Thanks. Benefit of the doubt, though, next time? I think I’ve earned it.

<SUMMERS A> Yeah. Sorry.

He’s just so completely shitty at letting anyone help. That’s what scares me. That something’ll happen, and he just won’t-- _Fuck_. God.

It fucking kills me that I can’t be there.

<GREY J> I know. I’m sorry. Look, let me see how he’s doing, and maybe he can call you back in a little bit, okay? And I’ll, um, I'll call if anything changes. I promise. And you have my number, right?

<SUMMERS A> Yeah. Thanks.

<GREY J> Okay. I’m going to go try to track down some coffee, since sleep probably isn’t on the menu for a while. And one of us will call tonight no matter what, okay?

<SUMMERS A> Thanks.

<GREY J> Good luck with your thesis.

<SUMMERS A> Oh, _god_. Right. _That_. Jesus.

Thanks.

And, um. Thanks for, um. Looking out for him.

<GREY J> Of course. Take care, Alex.

<SUMMERS A> Yeah. You, too. Get some sleep. Bye.

<GREY J> Bye.

  
**[end of recording]**


	181. Definition of Fine

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

<SUMMERS A> Hello?

<SUMMERS S> Hey.

Sorry I, um, missed you earlier. Jean said--

<SUMMERS A> _Why the fuck didn’t you call?!_

<SUMMERS S> Ah--could you please not yell right now?

<SUMMERS A> Right. Concussion. I didn’t--sorry. I’m sorry.

<SUMMERS S> It’s okay. I’m just--I don’t know what Jean told you, but I really am fine. You don’t need to worry. Seriously.

<SUMMERS A> She said you’d crashed your bike. And that you have a concussion. And a dislocated shoulder. And broken ribs.

<SUMMERS S> Oh. Well. That’s--basically, yeah.

<SUMMERS A> And that’s your definition of fine.

<SUMMERS S> You know what I mean.

<SUMMERS A> _Are you completely fucking insane?_

<SUMMERS S> Seriously, could you _please_ stop yelling?

Hold on a sec.

[muffled] Did Hank--?

[indecipherable]

<SUMMERS S> [muffled] Here, let me see th-- _agh_. God. _Fuck_.

[indecipherable]

<SUMMERS A> Are you okay?

<SUMMERS S> Y--yeah. I’m--give me just a minute.

[silence]

I’m fine. I just. Um. Need to not. _Ngh_. Do that.

[silence]

[indecipherable]

<SUMMERS S> [muffled] I don’t--

[indecipherable]

<SUMMERS S> [muffled] Yeah. I think--I--

[indecipherable]

<SUMMERS S> [muffled] Okay. Thanks. Sorry.

<SUMMERS A> Do you need to go?

<SUMMERS S> I--yeah. Sorry.

<SUMMERS A> It’s okay. Just--take care of yourself, okay? I love you.

<SUMMERS S> You, too.

<SUMMERS A> Wait--is Jean there?

<SUMMERS S> Yeah.

<SUMMERS A> Can you put her on?

<SUMMERS S> Sure.

[muffled] Alex.

<GREY J> Hello?

<SUMMERS A> Is he okay?

<GREY J> Yeah. He’s just being an idiot.

[indecipherable]

<GREY J> _Yes, you are._

He’s completely miserable because he fundamentally fails to grasp the concept of rest. And refuses to take pain meds because he insists they make him _stupid_ , which frankly--

[indecipherable]

<GREY J> You know what? You _really_ don’t get a vote right now.

I’ll be right back.

[door closing]

<GREY J> Ugh, God. Sorry about that.

<SUMMERS A> For what it’s worth, I’m 100 percent with you on the idiot thing.

[sigh]

How are you doing? Have you gotten any sleep?

<GREY J> I’m okay.

I’ll sleep later. Someone has to be the grown-up.

<SUMMERS A> I guess. Look, if there’s anything I can--I really wish you’d let me come down.

<GREY J> I know. I’m sorry. And I’ll let you know if I can think of anything.

<SUMMERS A> Thanks. When should--can I call back later? Tonight or something?

<GREY J> Yeah, absolutely. I can’t promise we’ll be up, but I’ll text or something if--

<SUMMERS A> Cool, thanks.

He’s--I mean--he’s really okay, right? I mean, he’s going to be? You wouldn’t tell me that if he wasn’t, right?

<GREY J> Yes, and yes.

<SUMMERS A> And you’ll call if anything--

<GREY J> _Yes_. Go chase down your advisor, or whatever you need to do. I’m going to go try to convince your brother to take Percocet. Wish me luck.

<SUMMERS A> Good luck.

<GREY J> Thanks.

 

**[end of recording]**

 

 


	182. Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

<SUMMERS S> Hello?

<SUMMERS A> Hey. How are you feeling?

<SUMMERS S> I don't know. Okay.

<SUMMERS A> What does that mean in real-people words?

<SUMMERS S> I don’t know.

<SUMMERS A> Did Jean talk you into Percocet?

<SUMMERS S> Yeah.

I hate it, but there’s a point of, um. Diminishing returns.

<SUMMERS A> Is it--I mean, I didn’t think about it earlier, but is it okay for you to be on that? If you have a concussion? I googled it, and--

<SUMMERS S> Christ, why did you do that? Don’t ever do that.

But yeah, it’s fine.

Look, I mean, for what it’s worth, this isn’t exactly new territory.

<SUMMERS A> You know that’s, like, the exact opposite of reassuring, right?

<SUMMERS S> Sorry.

<SUMMERS A> Just be careful, okay?

<SUMMERS S> I’m always careful.

<SUMMERS A> Says the guy who drove into a guardrail.

<SUMMERS S> I didn’t--it’s--

Go to hell.

Sorry. I didn’t mean that. You know that, right? You’re, like, the only real person I even--

[silence]

<SUMMERS A> Even what?

<SUMMERS S> I don’t know. Something. Sorry.

<SUMMERS A> [laughter]

You are so stoned.

<SUMMERS S> I know. I hate this. I should--I don’t know. I should get off the phone. And not--I don’t know. Anything. I can’t do _anything_. I can’t _think_. God. I hate this so much.

<SUMMERS A> I’m sorry, man.

<SUMMERS S> Sorry. I didn’t mean to get all--sorry.

<SUMMERS A> It’s okay. You can’t be Racer X all the time.

<SUMMERS S> Everyone knew he was Rex anyway.

<SUMMERS A> Except Speed.

<SUMMERS S> Except Speed.

I’m sorry about your birthday.

<SUMMERS A> It’s not your fault.

<SUMMERS S> Did you ever get in touch with your advisor?

<SUMMERS A> Yeah. It’s--she thinks I have enough data even without the last batch, and she says since part of the point is evaluation of the array for field use, it won’t--I mean, I’ll have to add a section analyzing the failures, but I’ve been doing that anyway, so it really just means having to write it up formally.

Apparently there was something going on with the Hulk and someone else upstate--the X-Men, or something--so Dr. T is going to call the Avengers science people and have them cross-reference the dates of the other blowouts, just in case.

<SUMMERS S> Did Dr. Banner, um, have any ideas?

<SUMMERS A> He’s still not answering his phone.

I mean, it probably wasn’t--they were pretty far away, and it doesn’t really fit the pattern. Lack of pattern. But, you know, better safe than--

Anyway, I’m beginning to think it might have something to do with sunlight, since it stopped when the days were starting to get--sorry. I know this is boring.

I wonder if the X-Men have a hotline for stuff like this.

<SUMMERS S> Why?

<SUMMERS A> I don’t know. Maybe they’d know more about whatever happened. If it could have messed with--

<SUMMERS S> Oh. Right. Maybe someone else would know how to get a message to them? The Fantastic Four, or something?

<SUMMERS A> Oh. Yeah, good idea.

I mean, it’s probably not even that. I’m just paranoid right now. This is, like, a year of my life. And my whole career. Future career. Former theoretical future career.

Fucking New York.

<SUMMERS S> I’m sorry.

<SUMMERS A> Still not your fault.

<SUMMERS S> Is next week still--

<SUMMERS A> [sigh] I don’t know. Probably. I honestly haven’t even thought about it, between the sensors, and, you know. You.

<SUMMERS S> I know you still have to deal with the--thesis stuff, but, I mean, I should be fine to drive by Tuesday or Wednesday, if you still want to go. Or I could come up or something. If you can’t get away.

[indecipherable]

<SUMMERS S> [muffled] Well, there’s a train.

[indecipherable]

<SUMMERS S> Sorry, just a sec.

[indecipherable]

[indecipherable]

<SUMMERS S> [muffled] Because I’m not a  _child_.

[indecipherable]

<SUMMERS A> Is that Jean? Tell her hi. And that I won’t let you do anything stupid.

<SUMMERS S> Yeah.

Alex says hi, and that he won’t let me do anything stupid.

[indecipherable]

<SUMMERS S> She says hi back, and that you probably couldn’t stop me, which is true. You couldn’t. But I won’t.

<SUMMERS A> Won’t what?

<SUMMERS S> I don’t know. Whatever it was. I’m very responsible.

<SUMMERS A> What you are is very _high_.

<SUMMERS S> I know. I’m not--I can’t even-- _god damnit_.

Sorry.

Ugh, god. I feel like I'm underwater.

<SUMMERS A> It’s okay.

<SUMMERS S> No. It's really--It's really not.

<SUMMERS A> [sigh]

Yeah. I know. I’m sorry.

Okay, so, I know this sucks a lot, and you can’t really do anything right now, but as it happens, the Landon library has a pretty kickass kids' section--

<SUMMERS S> Oh, god. Alex, I really don't--

<SUMMERS A> So anyway, since it seemed super appropriate, I got _Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day_ \--although yours was probably worse, so I guess we can change it to _Scott and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day_.

<SUMMERS S> [laughter] Ow. God. _Please_ don’t make me laugh right now.

<SUMMERS A> Sorry. And, um, _The Runaway Bunny_ , because, classics. And something called _Violet the Pilot_ , because, you and airplanes. And because the pictures are awesome. Which I realize isn’t that useful right now, but just for the record. Seriously rad.

<SUMMERS S> Alex, this is--I mean, this was really nice of you, but--

<SUMMERS A> Scott. Stop.

<SUMMERS S> I--

<SUMMERS A> Please. Just listen for a sec. This has been, like--arguably in the top-five worst weeks of my life. Which is saying something.

<SUMMERS S> I’m s--

<SUMMERS A> Scott, _shut up_. Seriously. And I can’t--I mean, my research is  <em>fucked</em>, and there's nothing I can do about it, and you’re--you scared the hell out of me, and I’m really fucking pissed at you right now, and I don’t know what to--and you’re obviously completely not okay, and I can’t even fucking _be there_ , and--and I know you’re really committed to pretending you’re fucking invincible or something, but--

Anyway, can you please just _please_  let me do this? Just, like, this one thing. Because there’s literally nothing else I can do right now, and--I don’t know. Sorry. I’m not--I’m not trying to be an asshole, I just--

<SUMMERS S> No. It’s not--you’re not.

You’re, um. You’re a really good person, Alex. You know that, right? And a really good brother.

<SUMMERS A> You, too.

<SUMMERS S> No, I’m not. But, um.

Sorry. I know I’m being a jerk, I just--

<SUMMERS A> Scott.

<SUMMERS S> Right. Sorry. I, um--there's a pretty good chance I'm going to fall asleep on you. If you’re reading. I haven’t really since, um--is that okay? Sorry.

<SUMMERS A> Totally okay.

<SUMMERS S> Okay.

Just a sec.

[indecipherable]

[indecipherable]

[door closing]

<SUMMERS S> Okay. Sorry. Thanks.

<SUMMERS A> Ready?

<SUMMERS S> Yeah.

<SUMMERS A> Okay. So. _Scott and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day._

_I went to sleep with gum in my mouth and now there’s gum in my--_

_Now there’s gum on my dorky red sunglasses. And when I got out of bed this morning, I tripped on the, um--_

[laughter] Sorry. I’m trying to picture you with a skateboard. Maybe it’s Jean’s skateboard. Okay, so--

_I tripped on Jean’s skateboard, and by mistake I dropped my sweater in the sink while the water was running and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day._

_At breakfast, um, Jean found a, um, Mach 5 car kit in her breakfast cereal box and, someone else whose name I don’t know because you never tell me anything found a Junior Undercover Agent code ring in his breakfast cereal box, but in my breakfast cereal box all I found was--_

Scott?

[silence]

[whispered] Are you asleep?

[silence]

[whispered] Okay. I’m gonna hang up.

[whispered] Be careful, okay?

[whispered] Love you.

**  
[end of recording]**


	183. Just In Case

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the whole incident (and more) from Jean's perspective, click over to [Mask Protocols](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3256592).

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

<SUMMERS S> Hello?

<SUMMERS A> Hey.

<SUMMERS S> Hey.

<SUMMERS A> How’re you doing?

Sorry I keep bugging you. I know you're not really--a phone person. It's just Jean said you're not supposed to be, like, texting and stuff, and, you know.

<SUMMERS S> That's not entirely--anyway, it's fine. Calling, I mean. And the other stuff should be. At this point, anyway.

Sorry I was such a mess on Friday. And thanks. For--everything. You know.

<SUMMERS A> Are you seriously--don’t worry about it. You had a really good excuse.

<SUMMERS S> Any word back on your research?

<SUMMERS A> Not really.

It doesn’t really matter, though--there’s not going to be a lot I can do this week, regardless. Do you still think you might be able to come up for a couple days? No pressure if you’re not up to it.

<SUMMERS S> Yeah. That sounds--I’m kind of going stir crazy here. And there’s always the train. I mean, we could even do Atlantic City, if you want. Roller coasters are probably out, though. For me, anyway.

<SUMMERS A> Ha, yeah. Maybe this summer. I kind of feel like I should stick around town, just in case.

<SUMMERS S> Okay. But yeah, I can come down for a few days. Maybe Tuesday? That’ll give me time to catch up here and make sure we’ve got enough coverage on the admin end of things.

<SUMMERS A> Yeah. Tuesday works. Do you want to--

[beep]

Oh, shit. That’s Dr. T. I should take that. Sorry. Tuesday. Love you.

<SUMMERS S> You, too.

  
 **[end of recording]**


	184. SUBJECT: Everything

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** Everything

Hey. If you get the chance, let me know how you’re doing and if you’re still coming up this week? From what you said, it sounds like you’d be okay with e-mail by now, but maybe not? I'll call if I haven't heard back by tomorrow, I guess.

There's also another thing I kind of don't want to bring up on the phone. You really scared me, and I’m really pissed off that you didn’t call, and that you called Jean but not me. I’m your fucking _brother_ , Scott. I should be the first person to know when something happens, not the last. I don’t know how to make Jean get that, but you at least should. Would you even have told me if I hadn’t happened to call? Or would you just have made up excuses to keep me from finding out?

Anyway, I’m really glad you’re okay.

Love,  
Alex


	185. SUBJECT: Re: Everything

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
**TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
**SUBJECT:** Re: Everything

Dear Alex,

E-mail is fine.

I’m still planning to head out on Tuesday, if that still works for you.

For what it's worth, I didn't call from the ER because I was trying my damnedest to convince Jean to give me a ride home before they could admit me, because--for reasons I assume are obvious--I wasn’t thinking all that straight. The hospital was fucked up and awful, and I was completely useless, so Jean was stuck handling pretty much everything, and neither of us got any sleep; and by the time they let us go home, we were both pretty wrecked.

It’s not about keeping you from finding out so much as that it really isn't a big deal, and I don't know if it would even have occurred to me to call unless it became directly relevant--if it seemed like it was actually going to interfere with plans or something. Does that make sense? I really am sorry I scared you. I didn’t mean to.

Love,  
Scott


	186. SUBJECT: GOD DAMNIT SCOTT

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **SUBJECT:** GOD DAMNIT SCOTT

OH MY GOD YOU FUCKING IDIOT

I AM YOUR BROTHER

WHEN YOU END UP IN THE ER YOU FUCKING CALL ME

AND YES I WILL WORRY WHEN YOU GET HURT BUT IF I DON’T KNOW WHETHER I’M GOING TO FIND OUT OR NOT WHEN YOU RUN YOUR BIKE INTO A FUCKING GUARDRAIL I WILL NEVER STOP WORRYING

BECAUSE I AM YOUR BROTHER AND THAT IS HOW IT WORKS

HOW DO YOU NOT GET THIS

 

P.S. Yeah, Tuesday's still good.


	187. SUBJECT: Re: GOD DAMNIT SCOTT

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: GOD DAMNIT SCOTT

Dear Alex,

I really am sorry. It honestly just didn't occur to me.

Anyway, I’ll see you Tuesday, and then you can yell at me in person if you want.

Love,  
Scott


	188. SUBJECT: Re: Re: GOD DAMNIT SCOTT

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
**TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
**SUBJECT:** Re: Re: GOD DAMNIT SCOTT

Dear Scott,

I don’t want to yell at you. I just want to trust the you’ll tell me when something like this happens. You don’t even have to talk to me. You can tell me “I crashed my bike I’ll be fine fuck off” and then hang up and find a bed to hide under. But you have to at least tell me. You have to do that.

Is Jean driving you up? You’re not driving, are you? Or riding? I mean, I know realistically you probably can't, but still. I don’t have a lot of faith in you not being a dumbass right now.

Love,  
Alex


	189. SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: GOD DAMNIT SCOTT

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
**TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
**SUBJECT:** Re: Re: Re: GOD DAMNIT SCOTT

Dear Alex,

Can you give me some benchmarks for what counts as enough of an emergency to call? I’m not trying to be petty about this; I'm just really not sure what you're looking for.

I’m taking the train down. Acceptable?

Love,  
Scott


	190. SUBJECT: TIMES WHEN SCOTT SHOULD CALL ALEX RIGHT AWAY

**FROM:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
**TO:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
**SUBJECT:** TIMES WHEN SCOTT SHOULD CALL ALEX RIGHT AWAY

  * If it’s bad enough to land you in the emergency room or hospital (still counts if you’re a dumbass and don’t go).
  * If someone you’re close to dies or your life changes or looks like it’s going to change in a major way (engagements, breakups, moving, job changes, tattoos, arrests, etc.)
  * If having me there or on the phone could help at all in any way, including just making you feel better.
  * If you’re not 100% immediately sure you’re going to be 100% fine ( _actually_ fine, not just saying it).
  * If you’d want me to call if it were me.



Clear enough?

See you tomorrow.

Love,  
Alex


	191. SUBJECT: Re: TIMES WHEN SCOTT SHOULD CALL ALEX RIGHT AWAY

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Re: TIMES WHEN SCOTT SHOULD CALL ALEX RIGHT AWAY

Dear Alex,

I'll do my best.

I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe we can still do something (belated) for your birthday.

Love,  
Scott


	192. Really Still There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New interstitial story (including, at long last, some Jean PoV)! [Enough](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3171356) fits somewhere between chapters 144 and 145, shortly after [Lost in Space](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2784284).
> 
> Update on the whole thing: This is the final stretch of the central story. There'll be a (long) epilogue, which I'm shooting to have done by the time the final chapter goes up, but that's a gamble; and definitely more stories set during this one or in this world in general to come after RRotFT itself ends. Thanks, again, for sticking around. <3 
> 
> -GJ

Dear Scott,

Thanks again for coming down. It was really good to see you, even if you look like hell. I know I’ve already apologized for it like a million times, but I am still SUPER sorry about the hugging thing.

Also, I know it wasn’t Atlantic City, and it was a week late, and we totally fucked up the cake (PIEPOCALYPSE ALL OVER AGAIN), but it was still awesome to get to celebrate with you. (I demand a make-up for Atlantic City, though.) Also, cake batter is _delicious_. NO REGRETS.

I worry about you. (Kind of a lot, right now.) I don’t know if telling you that will make things better or worse. I think you think you’re a lot better at lying than you actually are, because it’s pretty obvious when you’re hurting or messed and just saying you’re okay, and I never know what to do. You don’t ask for help, and I don’t think you really know when to stop, and that scares the hell out of me. I don’t want to lose you. I want you to be okay--for real okay, not just lying about it because you don’t want me to worry or you don’t want to talk about it.

It was really good to see you, though. I mean, I know you said you’d be okay, and Jean said it, but it’s different to hear it over the phone and to see that you’re really still there, you know? IIIIIII am kind of a clingy bitch, but whatever. Twelve years. Still catching up.

Which reminds me! Want to know something completely crazy? It’s been almost a year since the first time you wrote me! How cool is that? Anyway, I’m still not totally over the novelty of you being alive, so please try to keep it that way, okay?

Love,  
Alex


	193. Every Intention of Staying Alive

Dear Alex,

It was really good to see you, too, and to get away for a few days, and to get to see more of your research. I’m really glad it looks like your thesis is going to be okay; I know how important it is for you, and how much time you’ve put into it. I know you're still worried about grad schools, but I really, really think you're going to do fine. Let me know when you get news, okay?

And I’m really glad we got to celebrate your birthday. We should definitely do it right this summer, although I move that we take the bakery route for cake from here on.

I can’t believe it’s been almost a year! That really is crazy. And great. It’s been so amazing having you back in my life. I still can’t believe I can just get on a train and go see you.

I’ll consider what you said. You're right that I don’t like asking for help, but I also know my own limits. I’m pretty good at taking care of myself, and I have every intention of staying alive. Please don’t worry.

Love,  
Scott


	194. Closer than Hawaii

**[AUTOTRANSCRIPT - FIELDCOMM - CYCLOPS]**

<SUMMERS S> Hello?

<SUMMERS A> _Berkeley!_

<SUMMERS S> What?

<SUMMERS A> _I got in!_

Incidentally, this is the kind of thing you call about. In case you were wondering.

<SUMMERS S> You did actually get in, though, right? This isn't just an object lesson?

<SUMMERS A>  _No_ , asshole. I actually got in.

<SUMMERS S> Oh. Wow. That’s awesome, Alex.

So, California for sure, then?

<SUMMERS A> Looks like. I mean, I haven’t heard back from Princeton, but Berkeley is--I mean, I’d be insane not to. It’s the best program in the country. I still can’t believe I got in.

<SUMMERS S> Wow. So, California. That’s--congratulations. Seriously. That’s fantastic.

<SUMMERS A> You’ll still--I mean, I’ll still get to see you, right? And you’ll write?

<SUMMERS S> Of course. And I’ll come out for holidays, if you want. Or we can, I don’t know. We could meet up somewhere in the middle. But yes. I’ll visit. I promise. All the time. And write.

I’m so proud of you.

<SUMMERS A> I’m going to miss you.

<SUMMERS S> Yeah. Me, too. But still. it’s going to be amazing for you. And I’ll--It’s not that far, really. Closer than Hawaii.

<SUMMERS A> Yeah.

I guess I’m never going to meet your friends, huh?

Oh _shit_. I’m going to have to fly again.

<SUMMERS S> You could drive. And I still owe you a flight, right? Do you still want to? Soon?

<SUMMERS A> Yeah, definitely. When?

<SUMMERS S> This weekend?

<SUMMERS A> I could, um--I can’t this weekend, but maybe next weekend? Would that be okay?

<SUMMERS S> Sure. You’re going to love it.

<SUMMERS A> I’d settle for not totally freaking out.

I have to--I have class in like ten minutes. But I wanted to let you know. About UC.

<SUMMERS S> Okay. Congratulations again. Take care.

<SUMMERS A> Love you.

<SUMMERS S> You, too.

  
**[end of recording]**


	195. What Closure Feels Like

Dear Scott,

Do you ever worry that what you think you want is going to turn out to be not what you wanted at all as soon as it’s a real thing? Like, something that seemed super rad when you thought it was impossible, but once it gets close and you’re almost there suddenly you don’t know, and maybe it’s actually awful, and you second guess everything?

Probably not.

Anyway, I’m kind of freaking out about Berkeley. I mean, it’s awesome, it’s _so_ awesome, it’s the best geophysics program in the country, it was my top choice, but I also kind of never expected to actually get in. And it’s really far away, and I know we don’t hang out all that much, but it’s still really nice knowing you’re only like an hour away. And I kind of still feel like I just got you back, and everything still feels kind of fragile, like if I fuck things up or choose wrong or go too far away I could lose you again.

So, I know this is going to sound super dorky and clingy, but will you promise that you’ll still write? And visit? And not disappear when I go? (If I go. I could still chicken out. Maybe I’ll move to Vermont and grow a big bushy beard and work at a headshop or learn to play guitar and get really into Ralph Nader or whatever people do in Vermont.)

Speaking of weird shit, did I tell you Joanna wrote me a letter? Like, an actual one, not just a card. It was weird, but also kind of good. I guess Haley told her about Berkeley, and she said she was proud of me and she got that I needed to go live my own life and she hoped that when I looked back at the time I spent with them, I’d find more good than bad. And that I’d always have a place there if I wanted. Mine. Not Todd’s. Like, she actually said that. I don’t think I’m going to anyway, but I might write back at least. Anyway, it doesn’t really change anything, but it was cool. They’re good people. I hope they get their shit together someday.

Is this what closure feels like? It’s not really a thing I have a lot of experience with. I’m more of the burning-bridges-and-jumping-out-of-the-explosion-like-a-rock-star type.

BUT ANYWAY. Seriously. You’re going to write, right?

Love,  
Alex


	196. The Ones We Missed

Dear Alex,

Of course I’ll write. And visit. When I said I’d always come back for you, I meant it. Summer brothers against the world, right?

Sometimes the hardest part about getting something you really want is the fear that you’ll lose it, or that the reality won’t live up to what you’ve built it up as in your head. And grad school is a big commitment, but it’s also what you’ve been working towards for years. Remember what you wrote about geophysics being something you could feel good about waking up and doing in forty years? This is the next step to that. (And I bet you’re going to love it. You weren’t sure about Old Landon, either, remember?)

I’m really glad you’ve found some closure with the Blandings. They seem like their hearts are in the right place, even if they’re kind of messed up. And maybe this way you can see Haley without it being weird.

If you want, maybe we can drive out to Berkeley this summer. Make a road trip of it, to make up for the ones we missed this past year.

Love,  
Scott

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Summers brothers against the world" line comes from [this story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2770100). OH MY GOD EVERYTHING CONNECTS! -GJ


	197. Everything Bad That Could Happen

Dear Scott,

I know Berkeley is going to be fine. I’m just freaking out because I’m freaking out, and it’s thesis crunch, and I’m not really sleeping, and right now everything sort of feels like jumping off a cliff and hoping there’s a net. Whatever whatever whatever. Month to go, and then I will be Alexander Rocketship Summers, B.S. (AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA) (YES I’M FUCKING FIVE YEARS OLD FUCK OFF).

I think some of it is that I’m scared that if I let myself relax about good things, they’ll go away or break or turn out to be secretly awful. I didn’t tell you because it seemed so dumb and the flying thing was already kind of a big deal, but when I was moving up here, I kept on freaking out that I’d get here and you wouldn’t be at the airport and it’d turn out you’d forgotten me or just been a figment of my imagination or something, which I realize is totally stupid and insane, but I still worried about it. Like maybe if I come up with everything bad that could happen and every way I could fuck something up, either I won’t, or if I do I’ll be ready.

Which is stupid, since the really bad stuff is never what you expect it to be. You’d think I’d know that by now, right?

But anyway I’m fine and I know Berkeley’s going to be fine and you’ll write and visit and not disappear or hate me for moving across the country. Which is going to suck. I’m going to miss you so fucking much. I keep thinking I just got you back, and now I’m throwing it away, except it’s not like I’m jumping out of a fucking plane, right? You’ll still be here, and you’ll still answer the phone when I call at 3 AM freaking the fuck out, and we’ll still do stupid blanket fort Thanksgiving. Right?

The more I think about it, the more into the idea of a road trip I am. If you come, it makes it seem less like leaving, and more like going somewhere, if that makes sense (even if you’re not staying, obviously). I don’t know. I want to go there, but I don’t want to leave here. Does that make sense?

But yeah, let’s do this. We could see the Grand Canyon. I’ve never really been anywhere. I mean, I know we traveled a bunch when we were little, but I hardly remember any of that. And I want to do all the roadside attractions and tourist shit, because we never really did NYC, and my life is totally missing a photo of the two of us and the world’s largest ball of string or whatever.

I’m getting kicked out of the apartment in July, which is about when housing opens up in CA, too, so maybe around then? Would it be okay for you to be away from work for that long?

Love,  
Alex

P.S. Just got a date for my defense. May 11. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

P.P.S. SUMMERS BROTHERS AGAINST THE WORLD!!!!!!!!!


	198. Since We Were Kids

Dear Alex,

I’ve always wanted to see the Grand Canyon. Let’s do it. We can take 40 most of the way, and then cut through Las Vegas and up the California coast.

I’m glad you like the idea of a road trip. It feels the same to me: that if I can go out there with you, even if it’s just for the trip, it won’t feel as final. (I haven’t actually been on a real road trip since we were kids, either, but I remember them being really fun. The closest I’ve come since is probably hitching across the Midwest, which was pretty much the exact opposite of fun.) 

Early July sounds good. Getting a couple weeks off won’t be a problem. The advantage of being the guy who never takes vacation time is that when you finally do, no one can really say anything.

I’m going to miss you, too, a lot. And yes--I get what you mean about being close making a difference, even if we don’t actually see each other that much. It’s going to be hard knowing I can’t be there right away if something happens, but I also know that you’ll be able to handle pretty much anything grad school or life can throw at you. And while it’s not the same as being an hour away, if you ever need me to, all you have to do is call, and I’ll be on a plane. I promise.

Love,  
Scott

P.S. Should I come up for your thesis defense? I don’t know if those are public things or not, but if you’d like, I can.


	199. A Million Times More Nervous

Dear Scott,

NO DO NOT COME UP FOR MY DEFENSE. No offense, but I’m going to be a million times more nervous if you’re there. Sorry. Also, I’m not even sure it’s public. But mostly the first thing.

YAY, ROAD TRIP! Also, I seriously can’t picture you hitchhiking. That’s insane. I can’t believe you did that. I mean, YOU.

OKAY GOTTA GO THESIS

Love,  
Alex


	200. Got This

Dear Alex,

Okay. Good luck, then! Not that you’ll need it. You’ve got this.

Let me know how it goes. And send me graduation details.

Love,  
Scott


	201. Amazing Things

****

****

****

****

****

 

**[MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT]**

ALEX: graduation. may 20. 11 am

SCOTT: Does this mean you’re done with your defense?!

ALEX: NAILED IT

SCOTT: !!!

SCOTT: Congratulations!

ALEX: can u come

ALEX: wait no

ALEX: not a question

ALEX: you fucking better be there

SCOTT: I’ll be there.

SCOTT: Is it invitation-only?

ALEX: no

ALEX: why

SCOTT: Would it be okay with you if I brought some people? Not a lot. Just Jean and a few friends.

SCOTT: I’d really like you to meet them.

ALEX: seriously?

SCOTT: I figure it’s probably past time.

ALEX: wow

SCOTT: If you’d rather not, that’s fine.

ALEX: no

ALEX: its cool

ALEX: its awesome

SCOTT: Thank you.

ALEX: dude

ALEX: thank you

ALEX: i know how much this means

SCOTT: Thanks.

ALEX: ru gonna tell them i exist beforehand or just SURPRISE BROTHER

SCOTT: No, I’ll talk to them.

SCOTT: They’re going to give me so much hell for not telling them sooner.

ALEX: u kind of deserve it

SCOTT: I know.

SCOTT: I’m really proud of you.

SCOTT: You’re going to do amazing things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original plan was to end the story here, on the cusp of _X-Men_ #54, with everything bright and hopeful and on the verge of crashing down around Alex's ears.
> 
> On one hand: there's something poetic and wistful about ending on that upbeat note. On the other hand: this would have been a really terrible ending.
> 
> So, you get seven more chapters, plus an epilogue. And I get to leave this note as a monument to the bad decisions that might have been.
> 
> -GJ


	202. Not Going to Lie

**TO: Alexander Summers, ℅ United States Consulate, Alexandria  
CC: Cairo, N'Djamena, Tripoli, Juba, Khartoum, Riyadh, Dhahran, Jeddah, Damascus, Baghdad, Basra, Erbil, Kirkuk, Mosul**

Dear Alex,

We found your phone. I’m hoping you’ll think to check in at a U.S. consulate, or somewhere with Internet.

I know you’re scared, and this is overwhelming, but please call. I can help. We can help. It’s what we do. It’s going to be okay, I promise. You know me. You know I’m not going to lie about that.

Please call. Stay safe. I love you.

Love,  
Scott

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm messing with the canon a little here; more, with its pacing. If you're counting by the original comics, this and all the subsequent correspondence happens over something like two pages of _X-Men_ #57. Obviously, that's not the case in this story.
> 
> -GJ


	203. SUBJECT: Are you okay?

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Are you okay?

Dear Alex,

Writing on the off chance that you stop somewhere to check your e-mail. I know it’s a long shot, but I’ve sent letters via every embassy in every major city within 500 miles of Alexandria, and your phone is still here in New York, and I don’t know what else to do.

I know you’re scared, and right now it seems like running is the only option. It’s not. You have a place here. Please come home. Or call. Or write. Or something. Even if it’s just to let me know you’re alive.

Stay safe. I love you.

Love,  
Scott


	204. SUBJECT: Your stuff

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Your stuff

Dear Alex,

Your landlord called, since I’m listed as your emergency contact. He said your lease was about to end. I told him you had to go out of town because of a last-minute conference, but he let me in so I could pack up your apartment and your school stuff. It’s all in storage at the Institute. There’s a room here if you want one (a lot of rooms, actually). Or I can mail you your things if you tell me where.

Please call. I love you.

Love,  
Scott


	205. SUBJECT: Where are you?

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Where are you?

Dear Alex,

I don’t know why I’m still sending these. I have no idea if you have any way of checking your e-mail, or if you even would if you could. I don’t even know if you’re still alive. I’m trying not to think about that part.

I made Jean come with me to clean out your apartment, because I was so scared that I’d show up and it would be empty, like you’d never existed. I’m glad you got to know her, and she got to know you, even if it was only a little. The others, too. This completely sucks, but at least this time I know you’re real.

Please be okay.

Love,  
Scott

P.S. I stole Bear back. Sorry. I’ll return him if you ever come home.


	206. SUBJECT: Please Call

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Please Call

Dear Alex,

You don’t have to come back if you don’t want to. Just please let me know if you’re okay. Please.

I don’t want to lose you again.

Love,  
Scott


	207. SUBJECT: Containment

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
 **SUBJECT:** Containment

Dear Alex,

Hank is pretty sure he can find a way to contain the explosions, at least for the length of a flight. Just tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you. I’m not going to give up on this. And I’m not going to let you go. I promised. I will always, _always_ come back for you. No matter what.

Love,  
Scott


	208. SUBJECT:

**FROM:** Scott Summers (ssummers@xavierinstitute.edu)  
 **TO:** Alex Summers (alexsummers@othermail.com)  
SUBJECT:

Dear Speed,

Please come home.

Love,  
Rex


	209. An End, of Sorts

For the epilogue, click through to [Speed on the Inside Line](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3217910/chapters/7003229).

For a closing note (no spoilers), read on.

* * *

Dear Readers,

The original plan for _Rex Racer on the Final Turn_ was a pretty straightforward epistolary fic, a window on Scott and Alex in the leadup to Alex's first comics appearance in _X-Men_ #54. That's pretty much what I've done (although the last few chapters extend a little beyond). 

The original plan was also for it to end here, which, _well_. We'll see. This (epilogue notwithstanding) _is_ the end of _Rex Racer on the Final Turn_ ; but not, I hope, of this AU. I've still got a few more _Rex Racer_ interstitial stories to finish and post, and more that I want to write; and I'm way too fond of these versions of Scott and Alex (and Jean and Haley and Hank and Bobby and Warren and all the rest; and their world)--to let 'em go just because the main story is over. If you're enjoying them, too, keep reading. They'll be back. (And if you want to play in my sandbox--remix, collab,  &c--my e-mail address is on my profile page.)

Finally, some thanks: First, foremost, and forever to the amazing E: my first reader, troubleshooter, and partner in headcanon, without whom this story would probably not exist and would _definitely_ be much worse. To T, who read an early draft of most of this on my couch and laughed and yelled at all the right spots. To the writers of the Silver Age, for leaving plot holes large enough for me to crawl in and nest. And to everyone reading--for sticking the (considerable) distance, and your comments, kudos, and conversation along the way.

Love,  
GrayJay

P.S. You really should go read [the epilogue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3217910/chapters/7003229), though.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Knowing Scott](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13020483) by [mothicalcreatures (laelreenia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laelreenia/pseuds/mothicalcreatures)




End file.
